


Lost Black Sheep

by DisneyPhantomlover



Series: False Protagonists [1]
Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Ableist Language, Art in Chapter 21, Art in the last chapter!, Body Dysphoria, Body Horror, Broken and confused memories, Chapter 17/Chapter 5 was inspired by another, Dammit Joey, Drowning, Gen, Headcanons galore!, Henry was drafted Headcanon, I can't really blame Sammy at this rate, I will post warnings in the chapter, I'm adding a lot of art apparently..., Ink Consumption, Memories, Mention of various Ch 2 Easter Eggs, Now we're getting into game, Odd tag but it is appropriate, Oh the music, Organ Room, Origin story of everyone's fave Ch 2 nutball, Rating May Change, Reckless Behavior, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, STRAP YOURSELVES IN THIS IS GONNA GET BAD, Sammy and Joey have a very odd friendship, Sammy is Boris headcanon, Searchers make a slight appearance, Slowly transitioning to game, Some colorful cursing, Suicidal Thoughts, The Ink Machine is actually useful?, There is a particularly nasty fight in The Last Fight so be careful, Updated for Chapter 3, graphic descriptions of surgery type horror, more descriptive body horror, pre-game, slow start
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2017-10-12
Packaged: 2018-11-04 19:13:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 30,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10997220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DisneyPhantomlover/pseuds/DisneyPhantomlover
Summary: He never wanted this. He never meant to turn into this...Ink like creature. Or to rant and rave like a lunatic.But even the greatest of men breaks at some point. And Sammy Wes Lawrence is far from great, which made it easy to break him apart.This is how he came to Sillyvision Studios, and how his friendships got tested with each and every moment until he left the studio. Of course he came back though. How could he ignore a letter from Joey Drew?He couldn't. And he regrets nearly every second he's trapped inside the studio.EDIT: Now updated to reflect Chapter 3 of the game.





	1. Prologue: Stranded

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Pleading Prophet](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11003178) by [Lissamel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lissamel/pseuds/Lissamel). 



He was born with a song in his heart. At least that’s what many told him as he grew up. A whole lot of good that was when you were dropped off at a home mere hours after being born.

Under different circumstances, he probably would have been a happier child with a family. As it was, he felt resentment and bitterness rather early in his life, and he hardened as the result. The adults at the orphanage would say things when they thought he wasn’t listening- “Third couple this week! Honestly, that boy needs to learn to calm down.” “He’s such a handsome child with that blond hair and blue eyes. It’s a shame he’s so fixated on that music.”

….The only thing that made sense to him was music. Music could explain what he wanted when words and pictures could not. It was calming to him, and even when he had his perfectionist moments, he wanted to make sure the music sounded just right.

He was born with a song in his heart, afterall. He had to be sure it made it out for others to hear.

Once he was eighteen, he was aged out of the system. He panhandled on the street for months, sometimes drawing a crowd by playing on a stolen guitar or a mover with a piano. If he was lucky, he'd find a banjo and pluck out a small song of nonsense. He never expected much, honestly. He just wanted to make music, and to make it to tomorrow. Getting enough money for a warm meal was enough for him. It was around this time he decided that he disliked the name assigned to him. Who named a kid "Wes" anymore? No... Ne needed a better one. ....Lawrence was good. ...But so was Samuel. And when he decided he could not pick, he just used all three. Samuel Wes Lawrence had a nice ring to it.

Overall though, he wanted more from his dull life. Some stability, or at least something consistent. That's all he wanted.

Then, one day, his salvation came to him. And he came on crutches.

Joseph Bartholomew Drew. Or just Joey Drew. He sat nearby, listening to the songs and tapping his good foot along to the beat. The other looked all kinds of twisted, almost painful to look at. He listened to his songs for a short while, then seemed to disappear. He hadn't thought much of it the first time.

Now, had it just been one time, he’d be fine. But no. Joey Drew kept appearing. Always leaving a tip of a dollar or more, always the first to applaud and the last to leave. It was almost touching, but he was far too cynical to think such a thing: even he knew his blunt personality left a lot to be desired, and this man just enjoyed his music. No harm no foul.

But then Joey offered to buy him lunch. And while he savored the taste of a diner burger, they got to talking. Joey talked about his life, being clubfooted, and how he had learned to draw. He couldn’t add much, but told him how he was fresh out of the system, how he learned to play despite not owning any instrument, and even his opinion on the pending war. They talked for hours and hours, never tiring. But it ended when Joey mentioned something.

“…I know it’s not much. But honestly? I need a music director for my studio. Got a few buddies of mine as animators, and I can hire on a few others later. But these moving pictures need sound. …. Whatcha say, Sammy?”

I agreed in an instant.

I wish every day that I hadn’t.


	2. Chapter One: A Typical Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A typical day in the studio... Until it isn't anymore.

When Sammy walked into the studio that day, he was immediately greeted to the sight of Wally Franks ducking from a flying cup and Norman Polk picking up sheet music from the floor. Already he could feel a headache forming at the ridiculousness of his co-workers, but he held his tongue. He had the patience that only a morning cup of coffee could achieve, and he wasn’t going to waste it right now. He strode over to the thankfully-unbroken mug on the floor, picking it up to see whose it was. “…Alright Wally, what’s eatin’ Joey this time?”

Wally pursed his lips in a guilty matter, snatching the mug away. “It’s nothin’.”

“…Ya lost your keys again, didn’t y-”

“No I didn’t!!” Wally interrupted, promptly shrinking back before taking the mug to the downstairs kitchen. Sammy could only roll his eyes in exasperation, deciding to lean down and help Norman with the sheet music. His assistant director was already trying to explain away what had happened, but Sammy was ignoring most of it.

“Don’t blow yer wig, Norman. Nothin’ to get excited over.” Once he’d picked up the pages, Sammy began walking toward the stairs, managing to take the steps easily while reading the music. It was near second nature navigating the studio floors. He’d been with Sillyvision Studios since Joey Drew opened the doors, nearly 4 years ago. Seemed a little preemptive to buy a studio building when they didn’t have anything to take to the bank, but it worked out when the Army of Three-himself, Joey, and an animator friend of his named Henry- lived in the studio. Sammy didn’t exactly envy those times, but he had to admit he’d look back on those first awkward months with some fondness. One of the first songs he composed for the show had been inspired by Joey when he was in his cast; the thumps of a bass drum was similar to a cast hitting the floor. And he would remember finding Henry at all hours of the day at his desk, sometimes dragging the man to the kitchen or to a cot to rest. He considered the men his friends now.

When it was only the three of them, they took on a lot of jobs at once. Even after they were able to hire more people, Sammy would always consider this studio a home first. ….Maybe he’d be a little frustrated that people were “invading” on his home space, but he tried to keep his temper reeled in. “Tried” being the operative word.

“….Norman? This melody is in the wrong key.” He handed back a few pages of sheet music, quickly glancing and humming over the second piece. “….And this one is good. Just needs a little work on the ending.” He handed the next piece over, stopping at the landing in front of his office. Norman was originally just their projectionist, but Sammy had decided to bring him on as the assistant director as well. The man had such a good ear, and insanely observant; he just needed a little more guidance on how to direct musicians. “Work on those a little and start rehearsing with the band. I’ll make up some pieces for the next episode.”

“Yes’r.” Norman nodded, taking his leave to his workspace while Sammy walked into his office.

He liked the space of the room. It had a nice ambience that made it easy to listen to his hums and playing. And there was even room for his old cot for when he worked late and needed to rest. As he settled into his desk, he grabbed a pencil and started to hum the current music. He would reach over to a small piano, playing a few notes to keep the melody clear in his mind before penciling it down onto sheet music. It was supposed to be a song that went along with the new episode, where Alice Angel was singing with Bendy the Dancing Demon. So far, it was going well. A small dip here…. A crescendo that would fade here…. A quick repeat… It was piecing together quite nicely honestly!

Twas a calm Wednesday afterall.

…. Until he heard a loud thump and yelling start upstairs. Yelling that sounded suspiciously like Joey’s….

Fear gripped Sammy immediately thanks to the sheer fact he was yelling. He couldn't help the knee-jerk reaction to fear loud, angry yelling. But he managed to pull himself away from the desk and trudge upstairs. He might as well see who managed to upset Joey this time…. He hated being the peace keeper, but his temper and stubbornness near matched Joey’s, so he could wear the man down to a state of calm.

But he was honestly shocked and surprised to see Henry of all people stomping out of Joey’s office. Even more shocked when Henry slammed the door to the building closed.

He’d never seen Henry act so loudly. Or Joey be this mad at his friend. Hell, he’d never even seen them have an argument, even in the worse of times; Henry was so passive and easy-going, he usually just went with whatever Joey asked him to. And Joey was never that violent, not even with Wally. Then again... He knew that Henry was constantly stressed. Joey couldn't-or wouldn't- pull his own weight sometimes, leaving him and Henry to pick up the slack. 

But this... It never came to slammed doors. Not even after Linda. And he'd be lying if he said he wasn't the slightest bit nervous now.

Once the resounding echo from the door settled, Sammy shot a glare to others who had stopped their work to stare. “Quit yer starin’. Back to work! We got a deadline, cmon!” With a sharp few claps, the others had started work again. Sammy had started to the office, tapping on the door a moment before walking in. He needed to help... Do what, he didn't know. But he needed to help.

Joey was almost laying across his desk, papers crumpling in his fists and arms near shaking in anger. When he looked to Sammy, the tall man could honestly say that he was a little scared of that green glare. But, he swallowed down his uneasiness, steeling himself against the impending, if misdirected, anger. “What’s goin’ on?”

“…..Henry got drafted.” Joey spat it out, immediately pulling himself to his feet by holding onto his desk.

“What?” Sammy took a step back, trying to avoid what was sure to be a flailing Joey Drew. Henry had been required to sign up at the draft office; Joey couldn’t because of his debilitating foot and Sammy couldn’t given his multiple crimes from his time on the streets. But it was a literal lottery on who was drafted. “When’d-…. How did-“

“I TOLD him to not sign up.” Joey snarled as he spoke, picking up a small paperweight and looking at it. Without warning, he suddenly threw the paperweight towards a window. The glass shattered, and Sammy felt the instinctive need to back away running and hold his arms close. “I TOLD HIM!!! I TOLD HIM AND NOW HE’S GOING TO DIE!” Joey pointed furiously to Sammy, his eyes bright in fury. “THAT IDIOT COULD’VE LIED! DONE ANYTHING! BUT HE JUST LEAVES WHEN WE FINALLY HAVE A CHANCE TO BE BIG?!”

As he started to yell, Sammy realized immediately that he should start running, less his own panic set in. So he did just that. He ran downstairs, ignoring a concerned Norman as he locked himself in his office.

Henry was… He was drafted. There was no guarantee he would be on the lines or in trenches… He… He could come back.

Joey was blowing this out of proportion… He was just scared…

…..

He was scared. Joey wasn’t just angry. He was irrationally angry. Joey wasn’t irrational. He was the most clear headed out of the three of them… But here he was. Angry at something he knew Henry couldn’t have had any control over.

….

Not a typical day afterall.


	3. Chapter Two: The Ink Machine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tempers fray quickly after Henry is forced to leave, and tension between Joey and Sammy just grows and grows. Especially with this new machine.

He was beginning to stretch thin.

And not just mentally or emotionally. He was literally getting thinner and thinner. He was eating less and less out of stress, his blond hair growing thinner as well as longer. He would tie it back in a ponytail at the nape of his neck now just so it would be out of his eyes. But that wasn't the only change.

Henry had left the studio nearly six months ago. Sammy and a handful of others from the studio went to see him off. But not Joey… No. Joey had become so bitter and angry, and it honestly didn’t make a lot of sense to him. He tried to talk to Joey, to reason with him and maybe grieve with him. It was awful, no doubt about that; he was worried for Henry. Even if he wasn’t as close to the man as Joey was, he was still a dear friend. They had still shared a space and a camaraderie together…. And that friend was going to a war zone.

His paranoia grew everyday he read a newspaper or heard the radio. Much as he tried to tune it out, it wasn’t at all helpful when representatives from the drafting office and asked them for their support. He’d had to stand behind Joey and physically hold the man down from leaping up to pummel the officer. Last thing they’d needed or wanted was problems with the damn US Government….

But months had past. And Sammy was tired. Just so tired… He was already snapping at Wally more and more. Norman and Susie had walked out on him when he yelled in frustration. He felt awful afterwards, but he couldn’t face them enough to apologize or make up his actions. The minute he tried to apologize, something would come up and grab his attention. Like trying to stop Joey from spending his money on random supplies. Not even art supplies or paper, or even the typical studio equipment. But on wood and gears and machinery. And something else, given the week that Joey came into work with a nice shiner on his left eye.

So when Joey burst into his office, face exuberant with exertion and excitement, Sammy was understandably confused. “SAMMY WES!! I DID IT!”

…The hell? Joey never called his name like that. Sammy set down his pen and pulled from his piano, standing up and immediately having to dip down and catch Joey with how badly he was walking. “Woah there, Drew!” He held up the man by the arms, trying to use the cane and one good leg to pivot him back to a standing position. “Took you forever to get that leg lookin’ alright, don’t you go messin’ it up. What’s goin’ on?”

“Right… Right. Ease up, Lawrence.” He steadied himself on his cane, patting his chest once before he looked to Sammy again, excitement evident on his face. “But I did it!!” Leaning toward Sammy, his eyes brightened again. “I finished the plans with Conners and already started to make it!”

“…Make what??”

“Oh right, you miss it when you come here… Cmon, I’ll show ya!” He tugged on Sammy’s arm, pivoting around to leave the office. Sammy followed after his shock wore off, catching up to him once they were to the stairs. Despite the weird feelings he had towards Joey, he couldn’t help but keep a hand on Joey’s back to help push him up the stairs. “Oh thank yah, Sammy Wes.”

“….Welcome. ….And why you calling me that?”

“What, you don’t like it?”

“…No. It’s just… Nevermind. Forget I said anything.” He didn’t feel like getting into an argument right now. Joey didn’t seem deterred in the slightest, and was already off and hobbling off when they made it the landing. The musician could only shake his head at the weirdness, following after the man. It seemed like they were heading to Joey’s office…. Wait. They were heading to his office. Where they making another new character? He was fine with adding Boris and Alice to the show, and making new songs and music for them. He wasn't a huge fan of The Butcher Gang, but they were amusing enough.

Finding a giant machine in Sammy’s office wasn’t exactly what he expected. “What…. In the Seven Hells. Is this?”

“Well. Read the sign, Sammy!” Joey hobbled over, quickly smacking his hand on a sign that he’d honestly not seen before.

“…It just says Ink. That’s not exactly helpful.”

Joey groaned a little, but was not at all deterred. “It’s what I’ve been working on for the last few months. It’s the Ink Machine!” Leaning against the giant nozzle, the animator went on. “This is going to be our big ticket to stardom! We’ll be able to finish drawing up animations in a quarter or even an eighth of the time! And no one else will have this! Just need to fill up the tank here and we’d be good to go.”

“… Joseph Bartholomew Drew, you cockeyed mother fucker.” Sammy facepalmed, letting his hand drag down his cheek as he tried to take it all in. “How in the hell is this…This Ink Machine supposed to help us??” Then he thought about it just a little harder, recognizing some of the materials. “Is this what you’ve been wasting the studio’s money on?!”

 

“Look there’s-“

“Wally hasn’t been paid in weeks! And he’s pulling double hours animating and cleaning up the studio! Norman’s working three jobs now since you can’t pay on time and he has a kid to support! Shawn says none of the merch is sellin' because they're all fucking STAINED now! We’re running short on supplies left and right, the rent’s coming up next week… AND YOU WASTE IT ON THIS??? IT DOESN’T EVEN HAVE INK IN IT!!”

“I know it doesn’t but-“

“I DON’T WANNA HEAR IT!” With that, Sammy covered his own ears, leaving the office. Or at least the Ink Machine room.

Useless piece of garbage.


	4. Chapter Three: Breaking Point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At some point, something's gotta give.

After the scene he caused, it had taken a few days for Sammy to start talking with Joey again. It had taken both Wally and Susie both to convince the music director to see their collective boss. Wally was the main bargaining chip, telling Sammy that Joey had dipped into his own paycheck to pay him. Even gave him some extra time off for the weekend.

It was a good step in the right direction. Enough that Sammy had walked up to Joey’s office -now the Ink Machine Room- and had given the contraption a proper look over. “Seems built well… I ain’t a mechanic or nothin’, but… How is this gonna help you animate?”

Joey sighed a little, but put a smile on before trying to explain. “It’s like ya said. We’ve been running low on supplies real fast. We can plant trees to help with the paper and pencil part, but… Ink’s expensive. And unpredictable as hell.” He patted the glass of the tank, which was still empty. “I’m figuring out a way to make unending ink here. We can animate faster and not worry about running out… And it’ll be more flexible. If a mistake is made, we can fix it easily without wasting time.”

“Makes sense.” Well, not entirely. But he could remember Joey and Henry both complaining about ink thinning out and ruining the artwork they worked on. As well as how expensive it was to replace ink when they ran out. “….I guess this has some usefulness.”

“You guess?”

“….Okay. I deserve that. ... It does seem useful. I was wrong.” It was the closest to an apology that Sammy could give.

But at least Joey knew it and accepted it. “You weren’t the only one. …. I was careless. I’m not good with money, and I know that. Grant's constantly reminding me of that…But I swear, this money spent on the machine will make up for it real soon. Just you wait.”

So he waited.

And honestly? It had worked. Once the machine had been filled with ink, they didn’t once have to buy ink from a store or company. They still kept ink wells around, but they were simply recycled. Animations weren’t being made faster, persay, but Sammy had noticed that Wally and Joey weren’t as stressed drawing anymore. And it was nice having that nervous wreck of an accountant named Grant Cohen quiet down on how much supplies were costing the studio. 

But then the Ink Machine started overfilling. It would leak out of the nozzle and make horrible stains on the floor. Joey’s incredible idea to solve the problem? Making pipes throughout the building to filter and store the ink. He'd actually been in the room when Joey told his plans to their resident handyman, Thomas Connor. And promptly stepped in when he was certain Thomas was about to faint when told the sheer amount work he'd have to do.

And sweet Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Thomas was heavy as a rock when he fell!

Only reason the bizarre plan was accepted by everyone else was the fact that the pipes would deliver ink directly to desks. And it was admittedly convenient to have unlimited ink right at the work-space. Once the pipe system had been finished and put to use, Sammy couldn’t remember the last time he’d had to visit Joey’s office just to refill his ink well. The payoff was amazing, and it surprised him how helpful the pipe system was.

Said helpfulness ceased the day that the stairwell was flooded.

They spent almost an hour with buckets trying to empty the staircase landing, just so they could get out! And over the next few months, it kept happening. Sammy was not the only one to complain to Joey about the leaking; it was rather helpful having a group of put-out musicians and voice actors, as well as Shawn Flynn and his crew, quite literally behind him as he confronted Joey Drew. 

Joey said he’d take care of it. He had planned out more pipes and a draining system for the stairwell, something involving the lower floors, so it would work. Still, Sammy Lawrence honestly couldn’t tell how much more of this he could take…

 

His breaking point was walking to his office one morning and finding it barricaded. Complete with a “Closed for Construction” sign plastered over the door and window and a hard working Thomas Connor in his room with some black haired mechanic. He immediately turned heel, marched back upstairs, picking up a book as he went. Once Joey’s head was in view, said book was flung toward him.

“OW! What th-“

“JOSEPH DREW, WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO MY OFFICE??”

He could see Joey recoil a bit upon hearing his voice, but regardless, he stomped up to the man, grabbing him by the suspenders and almost yanking him off his cane. “Now now, Sammy Wes, there’s a perfectly good reason for that!”

“MY. OFFICE. EXPLAIN.”

Not his room. That was his safe space. His sanctuary from it all. Why was it being messed with and altered? He wanted to just scream and throttle the man. This was his first and only private room… Joey knew this and he still did this. He was about to cry or scream or throw a punch, and he was honestly not sure which he would do first. And neither did Joey, if he saw that flash of fear correctly.

“Sammy… Sammy calm down…” He held the musician’s arms, trying to steady himself and the shaking blond. “….I’m sorry… It’s just the way that things worked…”

“Joey… That isn’t just my office. And you know that.” He felt like he was a child again, his belongings thrown into trash bags because he was trash. Nothing but an orphan. No place of his own.

“I do.” He balanced himself on his foot, sighing. “And I’m sorry.”

Joey let him have the entire day off. He spent it at his apartment room, smoking through two whole packs of cigarettes and at least one box of cigars. His apartment was so small and… Not his own. It was already ridiculously small, with space to sleep and that was it. But after that day, it at least smelled heavily of smoke. His smoke.

And the very next day, the construction signs were taken down. Despite the brand new pump switch on his wall, he was at ease knowing that nothing else had been touched or moved. After finishing his work for that day, he had slept on his cot in the opposite wall.

This was his home…. It had to be.


	5. Chapter Four: Sanctuary for a Worn Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Sammy found a use for a hallway with a strange opening sequence.

“Heyya Sammy-“

“Wallace Franks, I swear on all that is holy, if you lost your keys again, I will throw you into the damn trash myself!!” The music director slammed his pen down on the desk, spinning around to look at the younger man, now cowering in the doorway.

The ginger made a valiant effort to keep his voice steady, even a little put-off at the accusation. “No, no, I got ‘em right here no problem!” He patted his belt, and Sammy could hear the telltale sound of jingling keys. “ I-I'l jus' be a min't'. The staircase is flooded again…”

Sammy deflated in his chair, dragging his hands across his face. “Chriiiiiiiist….” He didn’t stand up or move when Wally walked in, quickly turning the switch. “This is the third time today… And it’s not even fuckin’ noon.” He pulled his hands from his face, about to apologize to Wally for his outburst. But the man had already left, and he could see him trudging down the hallway through his window.

Guilt was already eating at his stomach, and his hand automatically grabbed a cigar out of his desk drawer. He had lit it and was smoking through the first inch before he really realized it, and he sighed at his awful habit. Since the pump switch had been installed in his office six months ago, his patience had been whittled so thin that the slightest thing set him off now. Norman no longer talked with him anymore, always hiding somewhere to work his projectors. When the man did come in, he simply did his job, accepted critique without a word, and went to the music studio to direct the band. Susie still talked with him, even invited him out to dinner every week. But he noticed how little she talked with him now. Some of that had to be the result of Allison Pendle coming in... Honestly, he hadn't known that Susie wasn't told. She was heartbroken over that... Among other things... 

God, he missed her. He missed having a closeness with her. Not intimacy, that didn't appeal to him. But just someone to talk with and be close with. Apparently seeing him with Allison, doing his damn job, was the last straw. 

He tried to calm down. Really, he did. But there was nowhere for him to go. His apartment was small and thin, with neighbors yelling at him for  any sound he made, including his bed squeaking. And his office at Sillyvision Studios was CONSTANTLY being barged into now. The Ink Machine leaked so much, and since Connor left, Joey was too damn stubborn to bottle up some of this ink and sell it! They could at least earn some money given the money troubles the studio was having.

He was at the end of his rope.

That night, he decided to stay at the studio. Try and get some sleep in a peaceful room…. But he couldn’t. His mind raced as he tossed and turned on his cot, and Sammy was close to screaming with frustration. Reluctantly, he swung his legs over the side of the cot and walked to the music studio. Might as well get some work done while he was stuck being awake….

Flipping the projector on, he raced down the stairs, grabbing corners to help swing around. He had to start playing while the animation played! He ran to the violin, but it didn’t sound right when he plucked it. Then he tried the banjo… But it didn’t sound right either. The next instrument he tried was the drum, but again, it wasn’t right. “Hell and damnation!” Sammy screamed out, racing to the piano to try it. Thankfully, it sounded appropriate. But before he could even start playing for the animation, he was startled by a loud click of the projector and the sound of an industrial door opening.

So the door opening in front of him was a shock.

But curious.

Stepping into the newly opened hallway, he blinked in amazement. He’d never noticed this room before, and he’d been in this building for five years and some change. Then again, he never thought that the random combination of the projector and musical instruments would open a damn warehouse door. But someone had made use of it, given the rusty valve pump. After thoroughly exploring the small space, he backed out of the room and pulled the door down to close. It was an interesting discovery, but he couldn’t see how it could be useful at all. He went back to his own office, deciding to spend the night double checking his sheet music. Then re-writing it. When Norman came in that morning, he had jokingly asked “Ya sleep at all, Boss?”

Needless to say, he wasn’t expecting a sincere “Nope,” followed by Sammy giving a handful of sheet music to him. “I had to re-write the music for the episode. This should work better now.”

He’d fallen asleep on his cot right afterwards, falling into a deep sleep once his head hit the pillow. Only to be woken up by a cane hitting his head so hard he saw stars. He may have panicked a bit, screaming loudly as he pushed himself on the cot and swinging a fist at the bleary figures in front of him. Being greeted by Joey Drew and Norman Polk both had surprised him, and his panic grew again. Had he messed something up? Oh wait, Joey was talking. “-asleep at 11 in the morning!! I ain’t impressed, Lawrence. You should’ve gone home if you were gonna spend the day sleepin’ away!”

“Mistah Drew, he-“

“Mr. Polk, if you want to continue having a job at this studio, I suggest shuttin’ your trap right now.” That had gotten Norman to shut up immediately, shrinking back a little. For a man that was an astounding 5 foot 7 inches tall, with a cane mind you, Joey Drew could make a presence when he needed.

But Sammy was far too furious and tired for this. He was done with distractions. Once he was on his feet, pushed past the animator and was going up to the booth. “SAMUEL WES, GET BACK HERE!”

Panic… Panic was crawling up his spine at the tone, but it was easy to ignore under the overwhelming anger he felt. Switching the projector on, he ran down the stairs, almost barreling into Drew and knocking him down. “Sammy, wha-“ He didn’t get a chance to finish, with Sammy skidding into the music studio. What was the order again? Violin… Banjo… Drum… And piano. He ran to the musical instruments, playing a quick note on each. No sooner had he finished the piano did the click sound through the recording studio, and the door pulled open. He could see Norman out of the corner of his eye as he walked into the hallway, but he paid no mind as he reached up and pulled the door back down.

…. And silence. Blessed silence.

Even with the muffled sounds of a confused Joey Drew outside the hallway, it was pleasantly quiet. And private.

As he leaned against a shelf, Sammy couldn’t help a small stressed chuckle.

Guess he found a use for this hallway after all. It was a pleasant sanctuary.


	6. Chapter Five: The Last Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened that made Sammy leave the studio.

If you asked Sammy Wes Lawrence how he made it through his last month of work at Sillyvision Studios, he would respond “sheer spite”.

At the time though, even he wasn’t sure why he stayed. Maybe it was denial with a mix of lingering loyalty; Joey Drew had honestly jumpstarted his career from working on the street to being part of a major studio. And they had become friends during the last five and a half years, even if their relationship was based on shared levels of stubbornness and an odd enjoyment of bickering. There had still been a level of mutual respect and understanding between the two. …But that last month seemed to shatter what remained between them.

Joey would no longer talk with Sammy, he would yell. He’d show up unannounced in the recording booth or the music studio, barking at the musicians or actors without warning. He’d even sent Susie Campbell -who was quite honestly one of the hardest people to rile up into a state- crying to the Music Department Office. All because Allison had come down with a cold and Susie offered to do lines for an episode. Joey had blown up at her, and Sammy could see she was shaken. He felt no guilt helping her pack up her few items and walking her home that night. That bit of kindness seemed to rekindle a flicker of friendship again, and she even wished him luck when he left. 

Still.

The tension and stress of his home had gotten Sammy wound up tight like one of the violin strings. He’d constantly smell of smoke now, which prevented him from singing or playing wind instruments as much now. He would shut down the entire Music Studio just to get into his sanctuary for an hour of peace and quiet, which added to the band’s frustrations even more. At the very least, when they started back up again, Sammy could enjoy the soft sound of his music through the walls. Even if the animations weren’t meeting their deadlines at all anymore, at least he could enjoy the fact that the music department was doing good.

But the day that Sammy walked out would honestly live on in infamy.

It started when Sammy had come up to the joint Ink Machine Room/Joey’s Office, and found the man working on the books. They had been losing money fast lately, with competitors fighting for attention and the studio gaining a reputation of terrible work and worse turn-outs. And it was Thursday, which was the day that Joey took to go through the week expenses and pencil them down with Grant Cohen's help. Sammy hadn’t even opened his mouth to speak when Joey had murmured to the bookkeeper “Don’t see why we need to pay Lawrence this week, his songs have been nothing but shit…”

“Excuse you?” He could see Joey jump in his seat, face snapping up to meet Sammy’s. He was certain that Grant had yelped, gripping his own chair, but he wasn't focused on the man.

“Sammy Wes! I- I didn’t hear you come in. You shouldn’t sneak on someone like that.”

“Firstly, that pet machine of your’s is so damn loud I don’t even need to sneak. And secondly, what was that you mentioned about not needing to pay me? … You do realize I took that pay cut that the rest of the studio did, right?” He could handle hate for his music, even from Joey. But not being paid for doing his damn job??

Joey sputtered a moment, hands talking more than his actual mouth did as he struggled to find an excuse.

“And behind my fuckin’ back, too?” The pit of his stomach sunk with the mere implication of that.

“Look, it wasn’t going to be a regular thing, Sammy. We’re just really in the red righ’ now and corners need cutting and skimmin’ here and there.” He leaned against the desk, pushing himself up to stand.

“Then just say it to my face, you damn crippled coward!” The second the words slipped out, Sammy had regretted it.

An unspoken understanding between them was that no one insulted Sammy on the fact he had been an orphan or panhandled for survival, and no one insulted Joey based on his club-foot. Joey had fired people who dared to strike down Sammy’s reputation once they found out he hadn’t had the best start in life. And while Sammy himself didn’t have that kind of power, he’d started fights and thrown others out who even attempted to undermine Joey because of his disability. And here he was, calling Joseph Drew a coward on top of that.

Silence stretched between them, with only the gurgling of the Ink Machine accompanying the silence.

“J-Joey, I’m… I’m s-“

“Get the hell out of my Studio, Lawrence.” Joey spat out his name like it was poisoned, turning his face away from his former friend. “You pack up your shit, and be out at the end of the day. I see you or your shit tonight, it’ll be in the goddamn trash.”

Wait… No. No, he was being fired?? “Joey, I’m sorry, I didn-“

Joey slammed a fist on his desk, and Sammy finally got to see how angry he was. It honestly made him glad he had a desk between them and Joey wasn’t strong enough to flip it, but he quavered under Joey’s expression. “DIDN’T WHAT, LAWRENCE?? IF YOU DIDN’T MEAN IT, YOU WOULDN’T HAVE SAID IT.” The animator held onto his desk as support, but was already walking around the desk as Sammy backed away. He may have been taller, but he knew he’d fucked up badly and wanted as much distance between him and Joey as possible. “I DON’T NEED YOU ANYMORE, LAWRENCE. YOU AND HENRY JUST TAKE ME FOR A SAP, DO YA?? GO ON. LEAVE LIKE THE SKID ROGUE YOU ARE AND TAKE YOUR TRASH SONGS WITH YOU.”

“HEY! Henry never left on purpose, you idiot! He’s out there, fuckin’ servin’ the country in God knows where! Be mad at me, but not the guy who actually wanted to stick around your sorry ass because you can't seem to pull your own goddamn weight! Your stupid 'belief' bullshit can only go far!” He took a step forward in momentary bravery, trying to use his size to his advantage and attempt talking sense to Joey. It was just close enough for Joey to swing a fist at his face, and Sammy stumbled back as it connected and pain radiated in his jaw.

For a short motherfucker, Joey Drew had a mean right hook.

Sammy stayed there a moment, hand resting on his swelling jaw. Joey seemed just as shocked that he’d managed to punch him, but it wore away as he leaned back against the desk.

No more words were needed as Sammy left the room.

His legs walked of their own accord down to his office again. Wally Franks, bless this nosy man, had peeked around to see what was happening while Sammy was packing a few things in his office. His voice was shockingly soft as he ventured “….Hey. Boss? Ya need some ice for that shiner there?”

Sammy shook his head, gathering up a few papers into a pile. “No thanks." Wally still didn't leave. And Sammy looked down at the pile of papers he just made. ... He couldn't do it. "...But there is something ya can do for me.”

“Name it, Sammy. Whatcha need?” He walked into the room, ever so willing to help. Even a grumpy asshole like him.

Sammy set the stack of photos and folders into the janitor’s arms, turning away and packing once the transaction had been made. “Get rid of those. Burn ‘m, bury ‘m, I don’t care.”

“….But-… Mr. Lawrence, these are your songs for the week. And your picture of the first year anni-“

“Did I stutter, Mr. Franks?” There wasn’t even a note of malice in his voice, just utter defeat. And Wally’s shoulders sunk at the mere tone of his voice.

“……No sir. I’ll go ahead and get rid ‘a these.”

“Good man.”

Once Wally had left, Sammy finished packing the remains of what he wanted. It was a quick walk over to the recording studio, and he reclined against the banister as Norman finished directing the band. He’d talk with Norman Polk before he left. Maybe tell him how to get into the sanctuary. No doubt that man knew about the room, but still. He wanted to clear the air with the projectionist. Especially since he'd be stuck there a while longer. 


	7. Chapter Six: The Lull of Twenty Years

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Twenty years really does slip by, doesn't it?

After leaving the studio and moving completely into his miniscule apartment, Sammy Lawrence had hit a low spot almost immediately.

The fact he didn’t have work anymore threw his inner clock off something fierce, but then he’d remember he didn’t have to fight with someone to just get a moment of peace and quiet. It took him a long time to get used to such a sensation; he was on his own again. But instead of crippling, it felt invigorating. He was on his own again! He didn’t need to stress over the smallest thing anymore. Yes, money was still an issue, but he could manage… Or at least not stress. So that’s what he did.

His first year away from the studio was spent in a Honeymoon type of bliss. His reputation had held despite Sillyvision Studios’ attempts, and he got called on to write pieces for movies. Even a huge competitor for Sillyvision Studios -an up and coming studio across the country called “Walt Disney Studios”- had gotten hold of him to write some music for a cartoon or two. Overall, his life was going well.

Two years away, and he’d gotten the surprise of his life when Henry Elias Ross had knocked on his door. He’d been so happy and relieved to see his friend back in one piece, he’d knocked the shorter man off his feet with a hug. Of course, Henry had panicked a slight bit at first, begging him to be careful with his arm, to which Sammy had let him down and apologized for his arm before reassuring him over and over again that he was glad he was back. They’d even went out to dinner that night, with Sammy footing the bill without the slightest prompt. Henry exchanged stories of how his deployment had gone, how he’d missed the last week of basic by breaking his leg, and stories of places he’d been. Sammy hadn’t felt the need to ask what branch of military he’d been in or “war stories”, and Henry didn’t feel a need to share any. Both were fine with that.

But when Henry asked how the studio was doing… Sammy had clammed up immediately. There was no easy way to say “it pretty much went downhill after you left”. But Henry had eventually coaxed some information out of Sammy. Mainly that Sammy had gotten fired, and the studio had officially gone bankrupt the previous year. All their work? Sleepless nights and thousands of dollars in ink and paper and the cartoons they’d made? Pretty much for naught now. Alice Angel had left the studio, bought by a separate company, and was slowly rising to stardom on her own right in ways that Joey never been able to do. But Bendy and Boris were left in the dust…. Something Sammy found a real shame. He’d adored the little devil darling and the over-grown wolf.

The next year had flown by; Henry was not having the easiest of times adjusting back to civilian life, and Sammy had suggested they split an apartment. They’d been a little reluctant to, with the memory of Joey Drew leaving a horrible taste in their mouths, but it had worked out. Henry was able to get back on his feet, and had managed to go back to school. Sammy stayed on the music scene, but was slowly transitioning to writing jingles and teaching others how to play an instrument. Sammy was there, helping Henry through shell-shock induced nightmares and hysteria, and Henry was there, grounding Sammy when his mind wandered too much or he started to panic.

After that year, they both had gone their separate ways. Not with a lick of drama either; Henry had decided to move back west to his hometown to help with his mother, and Sammy had helped him out during the move. They still wrote letters to the other, and plans of driving to Las Vegas for a bender were constantly made.

In a near blink of his eyes, twenty years had passed since he’d left the studio. And Sammy was better for it. He still had his hair, even if he wore thick glasses now. He had a permanent rasp in his voice, but he no longer smoked. Well, excepting the occasional cigar on his nights out. But at least he no longer smelled of smoke 24 hours a day. He was thin, but not stick thin like his last year at Sillyvision had made him. He had made a name for himself. Many of his old students had become successful and wrote to him. Even if he hadn’t married or had kids, he left behind a legacy he could genuinely be proud of.

But then came the letter. A nondescript letter in a yellowing envelope, in script he hadn’t seen in years. And it hadn’t made more sense when he opened the letter and read through it.

_“Dear Sammy Wes,_

_It feels like a lifetime ago since we worked on cartoons together. 20 years really slips it away, doesn’t it? If you’re still in town, come by the old workshop. There is something I need to show you._

_Your Best Pal,_

_Joey Drew”_

….Firstly, where did this man get off just inviting him back to the studio like nothing had happened? And secondly, why was he acting like nothing had happened?

There was a tiny glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, his former friend had calmed down. Maybe the stress of the studio had gotten to him, or he’d been too stubborn to make the first move. Joey had always been a rather prideful man, afterall.

So, Sammy decided to go. Dressed in his best outfit, including a pair of white dress pants and suspenders, he marched back to his first home.

Hoping beyond hope to see his friend again.

**….I wish I hadn’t.**


	8. Chapter Seven: Visiting Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sammy comes back to Sillyvision Studios, and finds how run down the place has become. 
> 
> ((This is pretty much the Sammy Lawrence version of Chapter 1 of the game.))

It was strange, coming back to the studio. Twenty years had not been kind to the building, and Sammy could hear slight creaks every time he took a step on the patio. “Alright, Joey… Let’s see what you wanted me to check out…” He knocked on the door, but stopped as the door swung open of its own accord, accompanied by an ear piercing creak.

Strange, but he wasn’t deterred yet. He stepped over the threshold, clicking the door closed behind him.

Everything was so the same, but not. The front was still littered with posters of the first cartoons that had been aired with Bendy and Friends. Ones he’d worked on… It brought a nostalgic smile to his face, and he lingered as he stepped into the main room. If he hadn’t been invited, he would find it a little strange that reels were spinning and a projector was shining. Joey was here in the studio, somewhere. Now he just had to find the bastard.

His first idea was to visit the Ink Machine room; it had been Joey’s office for so long, it just seemed logical. As he walked through the doorway, he stuck his hands in his pockets and slumped his back a little. “Here’s the damn machine… What happened to the on switch?” If memory served, there had been switch on the side of the machine. Now it was no where to be seen. In fact, this Ink Machine looked completely different than what he remembered. And as if to complete the intimidating atmosphere, the tank on the back of the Ink Machine was full. So full that Sammy could see the beginnings of puddles forming under the machine. How had it become so full?

He tried rationalizing to himself, bringing up the point once more that he’d been invited here by Joey. The man knew he was here. And hell, maybe whatever Joey wanted to show him had to do with the Ink Machine. Maybe it was a new machine. That was all it was.

Distracted by his thoughts, he almost walked right past a hallway that he knew HAD NOT been there before. Once he realized the new hallway, he immediately backtracked his steps and peeked down the junction of the hallway. One side had what looked like a box built on the floor, and a large surgical table that sat at an angle. Or at least he hoped it was a surgical table. The loose leather straps that hung down the sides made it seem a lot more menacing than that. He suppressed a small shudder as he went to the hallway opposite of the surgical table room, and came up to….

“What in the holy Hell?”

Somehow, this room looked like it was one of the breakrooms turned into a trophy room. Six empty pedestals stood guard in front of their respective pictures, leading up to the big, giant, obvious switch in the room that said “Main Power”. He immediately turned heel and started walking out. This was just silly. And cryptic. What was the purpose of any of this??

“Joey, I swear…”

Wandering back down the hallway, he stopped as he saw a tape player perched on the wall. That was Wally’s tape recorder! He’d recognize that blocky thing with the horrid paint job anywhere. But… What was it doing down here? Was Wally here as well? He was running out of things to really rationalize what was going on down here… But he still pressed the little play triangle.

_“At this point, I don’t get what Joey’s plan is for this company…”_

Oh wow…. He hadn’t heard that voice in literal years, but he could recognize it so clearly. It almost brought a smile to his face before he heard _“to appease the Gods”_. And hearing Wally sound genuinely frustrated was enough to give him pause.

_“-If one more ‘a these pipes burst, I’m outta here!”_

“….Firstly. Bless your fuckin’ heart, Wally. Second. Joey, what were you doing?” Now he was just worried. His friend had really gone off the deep end, hadn’t he? Appease what Gods? The Animation Gods? Sacrificing little tributes would accomplish… what exactly? Diddly squat? And roping everyone else into doing it as well?

It made him nervous, and he clenched his fists in his pocket as decided to look for a way out. He had no desire to turn the machine on, especially if it involved finding extra items to appease…gods. He may not be an avid church-goer, but the very idea made him uncomfortable at the idea of doing something that sacrilegious. Probably all those years in a church growing up….

Shaking his head, he tried to look around the floor again. He didn’t want to venture to the stairs; if Joey was here, he’d be here on the goddamned top floor. He could’ve sworn he heard something from the projector room, so he ventured toward the main room again. Then he was just walking down the hallway, humming a little to himself to break the silence. If Joey was hiding in the damn room and planning on pranking him, he was going to-

A cardboard cutout of Bendy seemed to peek around the corner, just as a stringed instrument played.

Sammy would admit to being startled and jumping back a foot… But not to the embarrassing yelp that followed.

He held a hand over his chest, trying to settle his beating heart back to normal. He knew it! He goddamned called it even! “Joey?! I swear, your pranks are damn childish!” He stomped to the end of the hallway, about to verbally ream the man… But found no one. No one hiding behind the corner, and a quick sweep of the projector room revealed the same. Joey was never a fast man, and he doubted age had changed that. But… He had to have been the one who spooked him. Otherwise he was seeing things.

Nervousness built in the pit of his stomach as he walked away from the projector room, and paranoia that he was being watched seemed to grow the closer he walked to the studio door. Maybe he’d take Wally’s idea and get outta here himself. The puddles of ink on the floor seemed to be growing the longer he was there, and his intent on finding Joey was forgone now. Let the man stay here. He was done playing these games. “….Twenty years and the guy stands me up. Classy.”

Well… He didn’t know what he expected. Did he really think that Joey could’ve changed over the last twenty years? Maybe want to make amends? Sammy had been ready to. Ready to start up a friendship with that driven, stubborn, brilliant man again…. But if this was the reception, he was all too happy to let things lay as they were.

He turned down the hallway, about to grab the door handle whe-

…….

………..

………………

**I don’t remember much. Just a horrid pain in the back of my head. Or… His head I suppose. I didn’t know it was Joey who had hit me over the head with a wrench. Only reason I do is because he told me.**


	9. Chapter Eight: Product of an Artist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joey... Joey what are you doing to him??
> 
> ((WARNING: This is a really messed up chapter and anyone squeamish involving surgeries or body horror should click the back button. I seriously had a hell of a time writing this and felt sick afterwards. Hopefully this is going to be the only vividly graphic chapter.))

……………..

………  
….

Ow.

Out of all conscious thoughts, that was the first to enter Samuel Lawrence’s mind.

Everything just… Hurt. His head pounded like a marching band had just gone through his ears, and flares popped up in areas of his brain as he started to wake. It almost hurt to breathe…. He tried to pull up his hands, but was met with immediate resistance. Cool metal rested on his wrists and elbows, and a second later, he realized it was on his neck as well.

Delayed panic finally hit him like a train, his eyes flying open as he found himself pinned to a table. He could barely move! His arms were useless with how tight they were, and he could barely breathe, let alone turn his head!! And a few quick kicks told him that metal had pinned his knees to the table as well. No leverage to push away…

He almost jumped regardless when he felt air on his chest. Someone had removed his shirt… Yet he felt his suspenders digging into his shoulders and the light weight of his pants against his legs. It wasn’t a comfort in the slightest though. He no longer had his glasses, and that terrified him; the studio was already faded into a single color, and his added blurriness made the surroundings swim.

His limbs shook of their own accord as he realized the severity of his vulnerability.

He was stuck.

He was going to die.

….. If only he had been granted that kindness.

No. Instead, he was greeted by a soft voice in the doorway. _“Ahh… You’re awake now. That’s good. We can’t have sheep being asleep when we work. It’ll hurt them.”_

“Jah-…..Joey? Is….Izzat y-you?” His voice trembled something fierce…. He swallowed heavily, but the action was impeded by his Adam’s apple hitting the metal. “…I’d-…. I’d recognize ya voice anywhere….”

Sure enough, his bluff had worked. He really, really wished it had been called out instead. _“Heh heh… Damn, Sammy Wes. Ya always could tell voices apart real well.”_ The voice was coming closer, though it seemed… Squishy? There was a certain liquid-like quality to the voice, as well as who had the voice. Sammy stiffened in his restraints, afraid to look in the voice’s direction.

It hadn’t quite hit him fully that the thing acknowledged as being Joey until he was right next to the table.

Not that he would’ve recognized him outside of the voice. The man that leaned above him looked like something out of a horror movie. A humanoid figure, patches of skin covered in thick, gummy ink, was looking down at him. Sammy nearly screamed when he saw the eyes. Those eyes were pure black, with a thick film of that same gummy ink forcing itself in the eyes and under eyelids. What ink couldn’t stay on his eyes would dribble down his cheeks, which disappeared into patches that had spread from his neck. In a strange surreal moment, Sammy thought of one of Henry’s army buddies; a tall black man with white marks over his skin. He’d called it vitiligo. Whatever Joey had seemed the exact opposite, with black patches on his skin and complete with thick black ink dribbling off his clothes.

_“I really am glad you came, Sammy Wes.”_

Sammy swallowed hard, hands tightening into fists as he tried to muster up some bravado. “Well…. Yeah. I came. ….But there’s no reason to tie me down like this.”

Joey gave a little tsk, shaking his head. _“Oh, but there is…. There’s a reason.”_

Sammy’s stomach twisted in knots immediately, his muscles tensing up. If not for the restraints, he would’ve flown out of there so quickly. Then again, that was what they were for… Both thoughts made him uneasy and sick, so he hardly noticed the pen that was making a line down his chest.

“H-hey… Now what…. Whatcha think you’re gonna do, Joey??

 _“Hmm… Well. I figured that part was obvious.”_ His tone sounded close to indignant, but he finished his line, making two more on Sammy’s pectorals. Then two more by the waist of his pants… It was eerily similar to lines a coroner might use to….

Sammy started to thrash as much as his limited movement would allow. “NO!! JOEY, PLEASE-!”

The sting of a knife on his chest gave him pause, and as hard as he tried to not tense up, he was trembling, hyperventilating….

 _“It’ll be alright, Sammy Wes…!”_   Joey crooned, the reassurance in his tone muddled by the ink pooling in his mouth. _“Just you wait… You’ll be allllright.”_ The knife stung as it dug into his chest, and Sammy screamed as the knife traced the length of the longest line. The pain wasn’t hitting him yet, but the sensation was still mortifying. A broken sob wretched itself out of Sammy’s throat as the remaining lines were cut.

“Oh my God Joeypleasestop no more Joey… Joeyplease oh my God… Please no… No….”

The man above him was grabbing a cloth to wipe away the blood the lines already were making, then grabbing a different cloth to wipe away at tears on Sammy's face. _“There we go… This is the worse of it. … Now we just gotta make room in ya.”_

Another sob broke through Sammy, and his eyes squeezed shut as salty tears gathered in his eyes. He was going to die here… Please…Let him die….

_**“Hey… Joey pal? He doesn’t sound good.”** _

What…. Whose voice was that? 

_“That’s normal…. Sorry, is he too loud?”_

_**“He’s loud, but that’s nah’ what bothers me.”**_   That strange, glorious voice was coming closer. A little light of hope in this hell. _**“I don’t like him bein’ in pain. … Why not give him some of that numbing stuff in the needle?”**_

 _“Hmmm…”_ Joey contemplated this, but not for long. _“That’s a good idea. Won’t knock him out, but it should numb up his chest. Maybe he won’t struggle as bad.”_

Sammy could hear the knife being set down on the table, and Joey walking to the wall. He tried to turn his head, looking for the source of that other voice…. He didn’t find it. Just a cut-out of the little devil darling resting in the doorway.

After a moment, he felt a pinch in his on his chest; he’d almost missed it since the pain of the cuts had finally blossomed across his torso.

He didn’t want to be awake, but he stayed that way. Shuddering and sobbing as Joey pulled his body open. The rest was a damning blur, but he didn’t want to remember it. It was like his mind wouldn't let him remember most of it. All he really recognized was Joey’s crooning voice, trying to comfort him in some perverse way as things were removed and cut out from him. And then there was the strange voice… Reassuring him in a genuine tone and a light weight on his left hand.

He only recognized the damning procedure as being over when Joey had pushed his skin back to its original position. Then there were the tiny pinches of a needle sewing the skin back… But he was missing so much inside now. He felt so hollow...  _“You did so well, Sammy…. Now you’ll match the model just right…”_

The blond man felt himself about to be sick… He still had his stomach…Right? Oh God it hurt….

_**“I think he’s done for now, Joey. Lets hold off on anythin’ til he’s rested up.”** _

_“Good idea. Here, I’ll get a blanket for him. Can’t have him running off and tearing those stitches open.”_ Steps squished away, leaving Sammy with the stranger… Who he slowly realized wasn’t a stranger. How could he have missed it? His voice was the same, just not warped by a microphone.

“Buh-….Bendy?”

_**“Oh, you recognize me. …. Don’t worry, pal. I’ll do my best to getcha outta here.”** _


	10. Chapter Nine: His Relief, His Savior

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After that traumatizing experience, Sammy gets a small break. And he realizes who's helping him, and who thinks they're helping him.

Sammy was understandably restless as he was left alone in the room. He wanted to get some sleep, but the second he closed his eyes…. Phantom pains would ignite the nerves in his torso. He’d remember what had happened. And Joey’s disgustingly soft tone would play in his ear, making his eyes shoot open.

He lost count of how many times he’d wake up crying, and conceded to the constant salty sting in his eyes. His breathing had yet to settle back down, and frankly, he was surprised on how he was still alive when he knew he was missing several organs. His mind began wandering to strange places as he laid on the table. Some were morbid, but others were nothing but the result of hysteria kicking in. For example, the idea that could make a door in his chest and store things like a locker had made him laugh for a solid minute before realizing how demented it was. He’d kept his eyes closed when the saltiness became too much for his eyes, but he was far from relaxed.

Relief came when Bendy’s small voice was next to his head. _**“Hey… Got somethin’ for ya, Music Man…. This should help…”**_ Sammy started to say something, but felt the smooth glass and gentle weight of….what felt like an small lipped jar against his lips.

“Wh-….What is it?”

 _ **“Ink.”**_ It was so matter-of-factedly, Sammy couldn’t find it in himself to question it or argue the logic of it. _**“I know, you’re still all human… But this’ll help, I promise.”**_ The jar was nudged against his lips once more, and Sammy let his mouth relax. This Bendy had been the only one to help him; he’d trust the voice of the Dancing Demon.

Course he nearly spat it back out when ink pooled in his mouth. Being flat on his back, gravity was not his friend and he choked on the nasty ink until it was forced down his throat. Once it had been swallowed down and he could breathe normally, he could hear Bendy’s worried tone. _ **“-too much, sorry! ….You with me, Music Man?”**_ Sammy could only groan pathetically, nodding his head once. _**“Okay… Okay. I’mma pour the rest of this on your stomach. It’ll help.”**_

Sammy couldn’t find the will to argue, or even the strength. Not that he could’ve stopped anyone in this state….

He felt the blanket get pulled down to his legs, shivering as cool air brushed over the sensitive stitches. Whatever had been in that needle earlier -he really hoped it was pain killer but at the moment he wasn’t sure of anything- was wearing off now, and he whimpered as ink the consistency of honey was poured on his torso. Despite the genuine words of comfort Bendy’s voice tried to give, Sammy was still whimper and mumbling in fear as the ink rested on his skin and chilled him further.

But then… It was nothing but the chill. The hot burn of irritated skin and cuts was dulled to nothing, and the literal emptiness felt like simple nausea in his stomach. The only irritation was the cool ink, but even that was less intense after he felt the blanket get pulled back up to his shoulders. _**“Alrighty…. I gotta go now.”**_ Sammy tried to beg for him to stay, but the voice was quicker. _**“I can’t have Joey see me like this… Just keep sleepin’ or somethin’.”**_

The man nodded, fresh tears springing to his eyes. But when he opened his eyes fully, he saw nothing. And no one in this room. Just the evidence of someone moving things around, like the blanket on him. And the black stains forming on the material.

….Who would’ve thought that a little demon would end up his savior? The notion of that conflicted with his limited religious beliefs, but… Well. Here he was. Maybe it was more sensible to think of it as a cartoon was his savior, but… Honestly, the demon aspect made it all the more ironic.

Sleep was a little easier to come by after that little visit, with dreamless rest and minimal pain that didn’t interrupt. He hardly noticed when Joey had come back in, only realizing this when the inky man was leaning over him. “Please…..No more Joey…Please I beg you….”

 _“Shhhhhshshhshhhh….”_ Joey whispered, little droplets of ink spraying as he hushed him. _“I told you, the worst is over… I’m just gonna move ya now tha’ your stitches aren’t so fresh.”_ He still spoke quietly, almost like he cared or was concerned about the man he’d cut up. It was such a juxtaposition to how he acted, and frankly, Sammy didn’t know what was more terrifying. The bizarre change in demeanor was the only reason he didn’t fight when he felt metal releasing from his neck and limbs, or start flailing when he felt like he was being picked up and carried on someone’s back.

Wait… Not just someone.

Joey was carrying him. Piggy-backing him somewhere…. And then down some stairs.

Fricking tiny Joey with his shit leg was carrying him. Quite a distance even. He’d be impressed if it was any other situation. But as it was… He wasn’t sure what to think. He had carried Joey so much... And the one time he returned the favor, it was because he'd done something so unspeakable.

His thoughts were interrupted as he was set down on something soft… It felt like the thin mattress of a cot. He thought about sitting up, but he felt Joey’s sludge-like hand push him back down. _“No moving around yet… Those stitches need a few more hours.”_

Sammy coughed as something -ink or saliva he didn’t care to know which- had caught in his throat. “…Why…do y-you… care…? Ya cuh-cut m-m-me….Open l-like… a damn tur-turkey…”

 _“That had to be done, Sammy Wes…. I took no pleasure in that.”_ He felt the thick hand rest on his shoulder, and he couldn’t help a tremor. _“But it’ll be worth it in the end. I know it will be… The pains will stop. We’ll look like them… And we’ll be adored like they were.”_

Great…. Joseph Drew officially lost his mind.

He never should’ve come. Never should’ve stayed.

 _“I tried to keep this room the same… Same as when you left.”_ Joey’s hand pulled back, a glimmer of what sounded like guilt in his voice. _“I was so angry…. Always working, and feeling sabotaged. My leg took up so much attention, it became part of me. And I tried to do right by the books, but… Numbers always swam around for me. It didn’t make sense to me but I was too bull-headed to ask for help…… Too frustrated at my friends turning on me. ….Or at least, it felt like it. ………I know Henry couldn’t help being drafted, but I was mad anyways. Some part of me still thought that he could’ve made some excuse to get out of service or just refused going in. But you….”_ Sammy flinched as he felt a hand hover near his face, and then slightly creeped out when it just pushed hair back. _“Ya stuck by me. Even when I was a bonafide jerk to you… I deserved bein’ called a coward by ya. I didn't do my part and thrust it on everyone else… But I promise. I did so much to get here. Not just belief. This will make things better, Sammy Wes.”_

With that, Joey pulled his hand back, staying by Sammy’s side a moment longer as the blond finally was able to spit something out.

“….You’ve lost your mind.”

Joey merely gave a small hum in response, almost sad sounding. But he turned and started to leave the room; he at least took the hint that Sammy needed to be alone for a while.

Once he heard a door close, Sammy let his eyes open, and was honestly shocked by what he saw.

He was in his old office. He could see the large window that let him see others walk by, his desk and small piano…. That meant he was in his old cot. Was this Joey’s demented way of trying to make him more comfortable? … Because he had to admit, the familiarity did help calm him. But the thick ink stains all over the walls and floor heightened his paranoia.

He stayed on the cot regardless, trying to fall asleep again. Maybe… Just maybe… It would be better when he woke up.

**It was. But not in the way I wanted it.**


	11. Chapter Ten: Searching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sammy realizes many things after he wakes up. And one thing for certain: Joey has to be stopped.

When Sammy awoke, he was surprised to see a small tray by the door. Nothing fancy, but it was a glass of clear water and a bowl of what looked like watered down chili; it was some kind of nutrition to fill his stomach. He swung himself off the cot, regretting the movement immediately as his chest and stomach ached and burned. He kept a hand on the junction of cuts and stitches that were on his sternum, which ended up being helpful since his hand was so cold and the cuts were hot and inflamed.

Fully awake but not quite sobered by the pain, Sammy was a little more cautious as he walked to the tray, falling to his knees in lieu of kneeling. While a small part of his brain cautioned him that the food could be poisoned, the man was starving. Well, nauseous and starving. He took his chances by picking up the bowl and drinking down a few gulps of….whatever this was. Soon as the overwhelming taste of greasy pork hit his tongue, he recognized what it was. A silly marketing idea that Henry had thought up that had surprisingly taken off: Bacon Soup.

Henry….

Christ…. He wished he could get a hold of him. Warn him, ask for help…. Something. Anything.

Just thinking of his circumstances overwhelmed him to the point of tears again, so he roughly wiped the forming tears away with his hand before attempting to drink the soup down.

It settled in his stomach rather fast, and the sensation made him feel sick. Even drinking the water didn’t seem to help that much. So he stood up, using the desk as a crutch to keep him upright while his legs shook.

Time to think this out logically… Just so he could get out… Joey was fucking nutty as a squirrel, but he seemed honestly and truly sincere in his belief he was doing good. Never a good combination, but it would be something he could charm or talk his way around. And then there was Bendy…. That sweet little devil who -while he had yet to see him- was around. Physically helping him and reassuring him and trying to work with Joey. And he had promised to help him to get out.

He would do whatever he could to stay on Bendy’s good side. The demon seemed just as worried as he was… Though of what, the musician couldn’t be sure. But there was a reason that Bendy was going around the other’s back to give him reassurances and help, he just knew it.

He hobbled back to his cot, sitting down on the edge to ease his torso. The pain radiated still, but the relaxing motion helped his mind to do the same at least.

A few moments passed before he felt something touch his bare foot. It shocked him, making him curl up and gasp. Once the panic subsided, he noticed the small ink well set down where his foot had been. The fact there was a new ink stain under the well didn’t even register in his mind as he leaned down and picked up the well.

Ink. ….Just shaking the bottle proved to him this was the same consistency as what he’d drunk and worn yesterday. ….Maybe Bendy had given this? … Oh who was he kidding, he could only make an educated guess. But… Maybe this had the same properties as before.

He pulled off the cork, setting the lip of the small jar against his own lips. He was hesitant to have a repeat of yesterday, so he tilted his head back slowly, only taking a few sips of the nasty liquid. It was hard to not cough it out immediately, but he forced himself to swallow it. It was just like….Rancid coffee. Just had to think of it like that. It was a late night, he was finishing the final dregs of coffee that was made days ago. Once he’d finished about half the little jar, he pulled it away, licking his lips. … It was nasty. But already he felt his stomach calm down.

So, the most sensible thing to do was pour the remainder on his chest. He was rewarded with his chest chilling, the cuts and stitches numbing down to a mere dull, uncomfortable sensation. Not pain for once, just the sensation that there was something in his skin.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he saw the ink-y figure that Joey had become in the window. He hadn’t jumped, but he still kept his distance from the window. _“Hey there, Sammy Wes.”_ Joey attempted a smile, but the gummy ink made it look menacing and gross. _“Hope ya had enough to eat. I got some work to do in the lower levels, and I may not hear you for a while.”_

“Fuckin’ fine by me!” Sammy barked, backing himself into his wall. He was cornering himself, he knew he was, but it was the only instinctive thing that made sense to do.

Joey merely sighed, his smile falling as he shook his head. _“… I’ll be back soon….”_ He looked like he wanted to say more, but one look at Sammy was enough to keep him quiet. The animator turned, walking down the hallway and disappearing around a corner.

Once he was out of view, Sammy slumped against the piano, accidentally pressing a few keys. He stood back up, holding his arms close to his chest as he begun pacing. How to get out, how to get out…?

Just as he was ready to scream in frustration, he heard Bendy’s voice echo through a pipe. _**“Try the door, Music Man!”**_ He jumped at the sound, but quickly did as he was told. And sure enough, the door was unlocked.

Sammy laughed once as he pushed the door open, then again as he stepped over the threshold. He could get out…. He knew how to get to the top floor again! He quickly ran down the hallway, about to turn the corner where he knew the Music Department mural was, but stopped in his tracks.

Disgusting beings were crawling on the ground, glistening ink dripping off their lanky “arms” and “hands” and “heads”. Said things just barely seemed anatomically correct. And when they rushed him, Sammy had ran away. He couldn’t see, was sporting stitches after a botched amateur surgery, and barely clothed. He was in no shape to fight yet, and he couldn’t find a weapon in his panic.

So he ran to the nearest open door, slamming it shut and leaning against it to keep it closed. The ink beings passed him by after a few tense minutes, but Sammy remained on alert for longer. It was only when he heard a light din on the other side of the building that he relaxed, pushing himself back to a standing position. Oh. He knew this room. It was the small organ room. He didn’t like using the organ as much since it was hard to record in this room. But one of his musicians, a sweet kid named Johnny, had loved it. He’d find Johnny practicing in here on his own time, and when they recorded, the organ made such an epic and amazing sound in the background. He smiled gently, walking toward the instrument and resting his fingers on the keys. He pressed down a few to make a chord, releasing after a beat. He was surprised the thing still worked….

And his face fell as he heard a groan in the distance. It was someone in pain…. And it went away just as quickly. It had a certain tone to it that made him hesitate to brush it off as a wheeze of the organ pipes or a poorly conceived prank.

He had a small theory, and he prayed it was false as he played another chord on the organ.

Another groan echoed afterward, like a demented cat organ.

He covered his mouth with a hand, about ready to throw up what little he ate.

No… No no nononono…

It wasn’t just him and Joey here. There were others. Others were being tortured down here. Those who had worked at the studio. Johnny had been with them only a year.

Oh no… Where would that leave the others?? Mike? Shawn? Grant?? Thomas? Allison? …Or God, Susie? Wally?! Norman?!? ….

Or Henry?

 

Joey wouldn’t stop. He would take everyone… Put them through the same Hell he was going through. Or worse…. He could see Susie being ripped open like he’d been, or Norman being knocked out like he'd been. Or Wally tied down to a table, screaming and begging for mercy. The mental images alone made him lean over, dry heaving his earlier meal. Nothing came back up, but the images wouldn’t go away.

He was not the first to be led here. And Joey’s kindness was practiced. He was not special or exceptional in that man’s eyes, despite their years of friendship.

No.

He’d be the last one. He was mere trash, he could handle being crushed and spit on. But he’d be damned if others were forced through what he’d been.

He wretched the door open, stomping down the hallway as he found the stairs.

He would stop him. And if it killed him, then good.

**I wish I’d known what he had planned here. Because while I’m grateful it stopped… Well. He was never the same. I'm so... So sorry Sammy.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((Next chapter shall introduce Sammy the Prophet we all know and love. Just not in a way that may be expected.))
> 
> ((Also, thank you to everyone for your kind words and yells at me. ^-^ This has been a treat to write and I'm so happy you lovelies like this.))


	12. Chapter Eleven: Shamed and Defaced

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Goodbye, Music Man.
> 
> ((There is graphic description of drowning and violence. Please tread carefully.))

Just as Sammy Lawrence had made up his mind on what to do, he heard screaming. It froze him to his spot on the stairs, and his eyes widened as he heard the exchange.

_“YOU DID WHAT??”_ Joey… Screaming in anger. A familiar tone he really didn’t miss.

_**“This’s gotta stop, Joey!”**_ That… That was Bendy. _**“HEY! Put me down!!”**_ He was struggling… And then there was louder screaming. The little devil was terrified…. _**“JOEYPLEASENO!!! I’M SORRY DON’T PUT IT BACK, PLEASE STOP!”**_

“JOEY?! WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU??” Sammy was stomping up the stairs, fury boiling in his empty stomach. The idea of helping others trapped here overrode his own poor feelings of self-worth, and he could work with this kind of anger. And he’d be damned to not help Bendy when they were both being threatened by Joey.

Thankfully, he heard the startled jump of someone in the Ink Machine room, and he knew exactly where they were. He hung onto the corners of walls to help propel him around tight spaces, making his way back to the damn room. He saw Joey standing by the machine’s large tank, his hands stuck in the ink. Sammy picked up a little more speed as he ran, and used his weight to ram Joey into the glass tank. 

It toppled slightly, but it was far too heavy to knock over. Joey groaned as Sammy pulled back, dazed from shock. Sammy could only back up, bleary eyes searching for Bendy… But all he saw was another cardboard cut-out.

Joey stood up, groaning as he put weight on his bad le- Oh sweet mother of Jesus that foot was literally backwards. Sammy quickly jumped back a few feet, adrenaline helping him ignore the pain in his torso. But it didn’t stop Joey from trying to run and tackle him. 

He ran faster, trying to hide in the hallways. 

_“AggggHHHH!! SAMMY! Come BACK here!!”_ Joey’s voice was going the wrong way, so he took the momentary break to look for a weapon of sorts. There were cans of soup, papers, fallen boards… And a wrench. A huge one stuck under a shelf. He leaned down, grabbing the end and started to yank it out. Thankfully, it came out after only a few tugs, and Sammy held it close. It was heavier than it looked. _“SAMMY WES!!”_ Joey was still on the wrong side of the building.

He took a few breaths to steady himself, tightening his grip on the wrench. Joey’s voice was not angry like he’d expected. No… He was desperate. And honestly, that made him more dangerous. 

He waited a beat, then two… And jumped out on the third. Booking it back to the main room. He needed to get out!! Get help!!

He had only made it to the hallway, the door in sight and almost within reach when he was forced to stop. An arm had reached out at the last second, and Sammy ran into it with his throat. The force knocked him off his feet and made him land flat on his back, coughing to catch his breath as his brain struggled to catch up with what happened. It only caught up when he noticed Joey standing over him, heaving to catch his own breath. Sammy did the only sensible thing he could do: slam his wrench on Joey’s good foot. It worked spectacularly, making the man howl in pain and jump into the wall, giving himself a moment to get to his feet.

But just as he was about to run, he felt an arm wrap around his neck again. He was forced to lean back, and the arm was choking him.

_“GodDAMMIT Sammy! You don’t know what you’re doing!”_

He tried pulling at the strong arm around his neck, scratching when that didn’t work and trying to kick when that didn’t work either. 

_“I’ll… JUST… SHOW YOU THEN!!”_ Sammy couldn’t breathe anymore, Joey’s arm too tight and now the man dragging him by the neck. It made his legs lax and he fell back into Joey, who merely used the confusion to start pulling Sammy back to the Ink Machine room. 

Sammy’s eyes swam in a sepia sea as he struggled for oxygen, and the fact he was thrown to the floor didn’t register. Only that he could breathe again.

He gasped in a deep breath, coughing heavily for a moment. 

He tried to take another breath. 

The Ink Machine was on, he heard the gurgling. And he saw the huge spigot above his head. And then it was nothing but black ink. 

He closed his eyes, pulled his hands up, he needed to get away. A heavy foot stomped on his torso, the pain blinding him even more. He screamed, but was cut out by ink filling his mouth. 

A weight was resting on him, forcing his hands down. He could only toss his head, but he couldn't... Can't breathe! 

CAN’T MOVE

CAN’T BREATHE

CAN’t…..

……..

….

..

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((Don't worry. This story isn't over quite yet.))


	13. Chapter 1: Ink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new chapter for a new mind.

.

..

….

……..

AIR!

They coughed, swinging their body up to try and dislodge whatever was blocking their airways. They almost felt sick, their throat was so heavy and slick and their chest was heavy. Cold and hot…

Where were they?

They could barely see… No wait. Once they pulled a hand up to rub their eyes, they could see their surroundings. Nothing but black, white, and the shades inbetween though…. How strange. They thought that was normally different.

They held their chest, which felt so hot to the touch…. And different. It was bare… Smooth. Smoother than their hand. And…firmer?

There was a sound not too far away from them. It took a moment to recognize it as a laugh. It had started like one, but… The tone turned nasty.

What was going on?

 _“PhaaaAAHAHAHAHAAA!!! Hooo…. Oh wow… You-… You really thought that would’ve stopped it??”_ That voice… Anger. Not something they missed. _“He DROWNED in it!!”_

….Drowned?

…… That’s…

Wait. They knew what that was. And could feel the helplessness from it. Why?

 _“He didn’t have a chance to get used to the Ink, lil devil. And now? He’s DEAD. Dead and gone.”_ They almost sounded remorseful. Almost. _“….But now? He’ll be better. He won’t be a simple human anymore.”_

_**“WHAT’S WRONG WITH THAT??”** _

This new voice… They knew it was good. It saved them before…. Kept them from being hurt more. Helped them when they needed it. And now, he could see the small black figure raised up in front of him, acting as a barrier between them and the Bad Voice.

 _“…. Oh my sweet cartoon… Everything.”_ The Bad Voice fell to their knees, sticky hands resting on the smaller one’s arms. _“We are awful things… We do things worse than… Than you could even imagine.”_

 _ **“If ya humans are such terrible things, than why bother??”**_ The smaller one was pleading, trying to appeal to any remaining logic the other might have had. _**“… You gotta stop this. Sammy… He didn’t do nothin’ wrong to ya.”**_

….That’s right.

Their name…. His name. He was Sammy. Sammy… Something. There was so many Somethings missing.

_“… I know he didn’t, Bendy. But… Love requires sacrifice.”_

Bendy. That was who saved him. Who helped him in his time of need.

There was a beat of silence. Then a quiet _**“I’m sorry about this then.”**_

With a war cry, the smaller figure had leaped onto the other, struggling with the larger one. It wrenched a huge black…what looked like a balloon from him. And threw it towards the wall. He couldn’t see where it went…

 _“SHIT, Bendy NO!”_ They were fighting still, and the larger man was toppling against a machine’s tank. Jostling the machine made little splashes of ink jump over the edge, dotting the floor even more.

 _ **“SAMMY!!!”**_ The name made him jump, recognition flitting in his mind. _**“HELP ME!!!”**_

He jumped up without hesitation, wobbling legs making it difficult to run but not hard enough to make him hobble. So he did, grasping his inky arms around the other’s waist. He wasn’t that strong with his arms, but he had leverage. And much, much stronger legs and back. He pulled the other off his feet, and it almost scared him with how fast the man was about to fall into the top of the machine.

The small black figure was sinking as well, holding the man’s head. His toothy smile grew at the sight of him fighting, and his notched eyes squinted in joy. _**“It did work….”**_

The man struggled for breath beneath their combined efforts. The kicks and struggles were becoming less and less. But the little horned figure didn’t pull himself out of the dark abyss of ink in the tank. _**“… Music Man?? You listen to me, okay? You don’t dare turn this machine back on! Keep it from being turned back on! Stay in the studio!!”**_

He didn’t know what was going on. But he nodded fervently. He would do as this Savior asked him.

_**“I’ll be back! I’ll get you out! I’ll save you, okay??”** _

He nodded once more, wondering just why this little creature was crying black tears. But in a fit of strength, the creature dived down into the ink, taking the larger body with him. They were to stay in the ink.

He pulled his own arms back, shocked and scared. Even more so when he heard gurgles and muffled screams inside the tank. The other was trying to escape. And he heard the faint scream of his Savior, begging him _**“Sammy!! Stop him from getting out!!”**_ So he did exactly that. He slammed the top of the ink machine down, hanging off the side as he used his weight to keep it closed. The machine thumped and groaned with the struggle of the two inside, fading after what felt like too long.

He let his feet rest against the floor, backing away slowly from the machine. Then falling to his knees.

A lot fell into place.

His name was Sammy. He was a musician. He… He did music for shows. His Savior… His name was Bendy. Bendy the Dancing Demon. The Bad Voice…. Was…. Joey. Joey… He… He had been a friend. He… He betrayed him. Betrayed everyone.

Bendy though… He didn’t lie. It wasn’t his nature. He’d come back. He’d save him. He’d-…..

He’d do what he was told. Stay in the studio. Keep the machine from being turned back on.

He looked up to the machine, moreso looking for the invisible body of Bendy that now stayed inside. He tried speaking, his voice distorted and melting. _“I’ll wait for you, my Savior.”_


	14. Chapter 2: Believe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A small break for the Music Man to catch his breath.

After the….bizarre things he’d seen when he woke up, the studio was calm and quiet. The machine didn’t make any more sounds, and he was all too eager to leave the room. It gave him such an eerie, terrifying feeling and a heavy weight in his throat. So he left, his ink-ridden feet leaving small puddles on the ground in his wake.

That was another thing… This ink. It wasn’t right that he was half covered in it. Or that he could only see in black and white. His head was dripping in ink, which was traveling to his shoulders and down his arms and back. Parts of his pants were soaked in ink already, and he’d be hard-pressed to keep what remained of these pants white.

… That was a weird thought to have, given all he’d been through tonight.

But… He needed to do something.

He remembered… Drinking ink. It tasted awful, worse than even the expiring Bacon Soup. But it helped him. It eased the pain and calmed his wounds. … At least when he decided to drink it. Being forced the ink-

BLACK

ABYSS

C A N ‘ T B R E A T H E

…. Being forced the ink was out of the question. Literally forced anyways. But if he drank it willingly…

He managed to make it to one of the offices. There was a tiny spigot in the wall, connected to a much larger pipe. His broken mind filled in some of the blanks, remembering this was one of Drew’s better hair-brained ideas. It had been surprisingly helpful for a long time… Since it delivered ink directly. He looked around the desk, trying to find something to catch the ink in. There was a small tray of pencils and erasers, a few rulers, and quite a few sheets of clean, if yellowed, papers… But nothing he could use. He tried opening up the desk drawer, and was rewarded for his efforts by finding a small ink well jar. It was empty, but that didn’t bother him in the slightest. He just had to stick the jar under the small nozzle, so he did so, followed by turning a small knob. Thick molasses that smelled and shone like ink filled up the jar fairly quickly, and he wasn’t fast enough to turn the knob off before it dribbled over the lip and soaked in his hand.

Still. It was enough. He pulled it to his face, taking a small drink. His mind compared this to the first time he’d tasted whiskey. It hadn’t gone down easily; it had tasted harsh and burned his throat. But after a few more sips, just like the whiskey, the ink had slid down his throat with barely a sensation, settling in his waist with a comfortable warmth. The bleariness was not as bad now, with his eyes focusing on his surroundings so much better. He set the empty well back on the desk, licking his lips. His tongue and lips were still thick with the sludge-like ink, but at least his earlier idea was confirmed. Ink was important. And if he willingly took it, then it helped him.

He looked back down to the drawer, about to close it when something glimmering caught his eye. He carefully pulled it out, and leaning over it helped him recognize it as an empty pen. It was a lovely thing, able to be used and re-used for years -which it probably had been.

….

Out of sheer curiosity, he decided to try and copy a gesture he’d seen before. He stuck out his ink swollen tongue, tapping the sharp edge of the pen nub against the thick of his tongue. Then he pulled the pen down, scribbling a few circles onto the paper. And sure enough, the doodles had came out! Clearly and lined so nicely with fresh ink.

A burbling laugh peeked through his throat. The sheer…silliness of it was too much!! He giggled and snorted, his free hand holding his head as he leaned back and let out a happy cackle.

He was nothing but ink!! Just like those weird little beasts he could see playing and dragging themselves down the hall! He just had what was left of his mind.

…..

That sobered him up slightly, and he held his head harder as he repeated that thought. He just had what was left of his mind. And there honestly wasn’t a lot there.

He hung onto the pen, taking it with him as he left the room and ventured downstairs again. He made it down hallways, flipping a few switches here and there to make it through one particularly strange area. Once he made it past a roll-up door, he blinked in amazement at the large stylized letters and smaller images that greeted him. “MUSIC DEPARTMENT”. ….Oh. His Savior had called him Music Man. That made more sense. He remembered he was the head of this area….

He wandered down the hallway left of the mural, finding the surroundings more and more familiar. Including a huge window that peeked in on an office. The huge sign above the window caught his attention, and he was able to read it as he got closer. “Office of SAMMY LAWRENCE: Music Department Director”. He was the director! He’d been right!

His mind wasn’t completely gone yet. He laughed again as he walked through his office door, relieved that some things were looking up. Noticing the radio on the desk, he experimentally tried turning it on. A catchy song started playing immediately, and a smile found its way on his face. He knew this! One of the musicians he'd been fond of, a kid named Will Ryan, had composed this in his spare time and gave him a copy. He couldn't remember when... Or even what Will had looked like. But he remembered. And that was the important part.

He just needed to remind himself of that. Remembering would be hard, but it was important.

He looked towards the bare wall on his left, then to his hand. It was still dripping ink, and it made little dots on the floor. It would write easily. But he needed something bigger than the pen.

So he used his fingers to trace out a phrase on the wall. He needed this reminder while he’d be stuck here.

iT’S TIME To BELIEVE.

He needed to believe things could get better from here. He’d be saved soon. And he’d be freed. They’d all be freed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I'll admit, I couldn't help a small mention to DAGames. Easter egg or not, I loved the original song so much and it got me to listen to other similar songs.)


	15. Chapter 3: Lull

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Years really stretch on, don't they? Especially when you can't have anyone to talk to and your broken mind can't seem to settle down. Will he make it?

Time was so meaningless now….

Logically, he knew that because the windows were boarded and an old backup generator that was powered by a river kept the studio in a steady state.

But logic did little for his mind. Especially when he limited himself to his department's floor. He tried going to the lower levels before. And God, it had been terrifying... Finding that awful, awful monster of an angel, the sacks of bodies, the perversion of his Savior in the hallways... And then there was that screeching thing in the basement. He had made the mistake of getting caught in its light once, and the ear-splitting static had given him enough warning to hide in a little closet. It had walked by with a strange gait, and had a projector. The Projectionist.... He had gotten the name from a nearby tape. And he didn't know why the recording's voice had made his heart sink like it did. That voice wasn't familiar... It couldn't be.

He didn't go down there anymore. That was the fallen angel's territory. He would stick to his department and the upper floor. So he did. Days stretched on, punctuated only by the occasional hunger pang or craving for ink. It took him a long time to realize that his chest had finally smoothed out from some type of cutting and stitching. Even longer to realize the ink now coated his skin; even the skin hidden under his pants. His legs had itched for some amount of time, and then they didn’t.

It’d been a while before he noticed his legs had swollen. Not from misuse or disease -at least he hoped- but from….something else. And then? He no longer had legs. Just his white pants that doubled as working legs.

His torso shrunk to nearly half its original width. His stomach pinched in, though he wasn’t as bothered by that; there wasn’t much of the way of squishy bits and organs in his stomach, so it didn’t hurt as much as it looked. What had hurt was his arms. The ink and skin wrapped around his bones like a kind of sleeve, too tight for what muscles had been there. Soon, muscle gave way and shrunk as well, and he was a little ashamed at his arms looking so willowy and weak. And he grew frustrated when he saw he was missing a finger on each hand. ... Or.. Had he always had four fingers?

Sometimes…. Sometimes the light hurt. It burned his eyes even through the thick ink, so he had taken to shutting off lights in the building. But then the darkness would remind him of darker things. Drowning in the dark still terrified him. Almost as much as a blanket or cloth around his arms sparked a feeling of being trapped. It wasn’t as bad to rest with the lights on, or a blanket just draped over his torso with his arms free.

What was bad was he’d forget things more now. No matter how much ink he drank, or even showered under one of the bigger spigots of ink in the animation department, he was missing pieces of information. He forgot when he was born. Who he was born to. Where he lived. What school he’d gone to. Any other types of friends he had outside of this damned studio. If he had a lover. If he had children of his own.

He had to have had all of these! Any normal person did. But his broken brain had remained stubbornly blank. He refused to believe that he was so gone and lost that he couldn’t remember his own parents.

He cried a lot more now.

The urge to leave the studio was nonexistent; he couldn’t disobey his Savior. Any day now, he’d be saved! He’d come out of the Ink Machine, dragging Joey out of the abyss with him. He’d help Sammy escape this dark inky prison of a body. Then they’d be free to go outside again. He’d be with his friends again. Drew and Ross! He missed them so… Susie and Norman too. He’d even share a laugh with Wally, take the younger man out for a night out with Ross! He’d bicker more with Drew, but then they’d laugh about it afterwards. He’d write him a little jingle while Drew gave him a little doodle. It was just Joey who had ruined everything. He just needed to be patient! He could be! He’d be patient for Bendy! He’d be patient so that he’d get the best reward of all time….

But it wouldn’t stop him from using his ink-ridden hands to write on different walls. He needed more reminders. Like the fact that Joey had lied to them. He had lied and betrayed them all. The Creator of the show that this studio had been part of for so long…. Joey was the reason that Drew and Ross weren’t here anymore. So he wrote “THE CREATOR LIED TO US” in one room. And he was being patient. Bendy would save him, and everyone else stuck in this godforsaken studio. He would…. “HE WiLL SET US FREE”.

It wasn’t enough… But it was a start. And it gave him something to do while time passed. Not that he could tell when it passed or-… No. He was going down a bad path thinking that way. He was okay. Just… A rough spot. Rough spots were common for him. But he would make it.

Finding another one of Wally’s tape recorders a while later gave him a brilliant idea. He had found it next to his office door, his recorded voice complaining about losing his keys again. He’d laughed outright at Wally being nervous to tell Sammy about it, but in retrospect, he couldn’t blame the kid. He was the tallest in the studio, and known for starting fights, even if it was for the right cause. … What an odd memory.

But he did what he could with the two free recorders he’d found in the animation department. There were so many scattered recorders, not just Wally's, that it was a feat he'd found some that were free to record. His first recording was a small memory he had only recently recalled… Years ago. Involving the obnoxious pump switch in his room. His ROOM. Not just his office but his room. He held the tape recorder up to eye level, and punched the button with a single dot on it before speaking.

 _“So first, Joey installs this Ink Machine over our heads. Then it begins to leak. Three times last month, we couldn’t even get out of our department because the ink had flooded the stairwell.”_ More flashes of his memory peeked through as he clearly pictured the image of Joey behind his desk, slightly guilty as he and a group behind him complained about the smell and thickness of ink in the stairwell. _“Joey’s solution? An ink pump to drain it periodically.”_ One of Joey’s good ideas, one that he was using now! But… _“Now I have this ugly pump switch right in my office.”_ His office, barricaded. His room altered without even being told or asked. _“People in and out all day.”_ Now Wally’s nervousness to tell him about his keys made a little more sense…. His voice turned bitter as he finished _“Thanks, Joey. Just what I needed. More distractions. These stupid cartoon songs don’t write themselves, you know.”_

….Okay. Calling his own songs stupid was rather harsh. But that undertone of bitterness just wouldn’t let up. He was mad at Joey… Even when the man was stuck in the Ink Machine, he still managed to piss him off. Made him want to just get away from it all, or at least hide from it.

He punched the button with a circle printed on it, setting the cassette recorder right by the Music Department mural. No sooner had he set it down that another memory had popped in his head. He wandered down the hallway to his room again, a strange sequence playing in his mind. Playing a few instruments, and being surprised as a door opened. A door to his sanctuary… But.. His room was that. Wasn’t it? ….Well. Every artistic person had a sanctuary. This was common knowledge….

He pushed the record button down as he spoke. _“Every artistic person needs a sanctuary. Joey Drew-"_ That was strange on his tongue; Joey was different than Drew. Joey was hard and cruel and manipulative, where Drew was firm and bold but sincere in what he did. _“-has his and I have mine. To enter, you need only know my favorite song.”_

That’s right. The song that started off Sheep Songs. He saw the posters everywhere for the episode, but the music was missing. But he knew how it started. _“The violin shudders with a piercing voice. The banjo playfully plucks. The drum thunders in triumph. The piano delicately calls.”_ There was something else… But it couldn’t come to mind just then. No matter. _“Sing my song and my sanctuary will open to you.”_

He set the tape recorder down in the closet, closing the door behind him.

… It wasn’t enough.

It was never enough anymore.

His name was Sammy Lawrence, and his mind was slipping. Soon he would be completely gone…. How would he ever make it to see the Day he’d be Saved?


	16. Chapter 4: Worship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sammy falls down a dark hole when he realizes a few things about his new body. So he visits the Ink Machine Room again. 
> 
> ((This is not a pleasant chapter for the first half, involving a lot of suicidal thoughts and reckless behavior as a result.))

For the umpteenth time since he’d been in this studio, Sammy wondered why he bothered being alive. Or this strange state of living purgatory, sustained by thick ink. Even when he stared at his reminders, trying to bring up the feelings of pride and assurance he’d had when writing or speaking, his present state just couldn’t follow through on those previous emotions. He wanted to leave the studio.

He tried.

He’d tried to open the main door on the top-most animation floor, and it had swung open. But once he had stuck a foot outside, ready to take his literal first step, so many sensations hit his body like a train. His stomach burned and caved in on itself, his lungs burned, his eyes were stinging, his legs were broken, they had to be-

He couldn’t move it hurt so badly. Even involuntary movements, like the slow beat of his heart or pulse of his lungs was agonizing. Everything hurt. But thankfully, he was balancing on one foot. When gravity forced him to fall backwards, he’d used the momentum to pull back into the safety of the studio before the pain blinded him once more. He slammed the door shut, taking shaky breaths as the pain slowly dulled and ebbed away. Had it not been so sudden and strong, he might not have realized he was close to tears in agony.

….

He really couldn’t leave. His Savior had begged him to stay… And all this while, he was stuck here. …. NO. Bendy would never lie to him. He’d been terrified. He’d begged for Sammy to stay. He’d tried to help him by having him drink the ink. Maybe…. Maybe he hadn’t known. He had been stuck here himself… And unable to leave the studio. ….If his Savior, that sweet demon named Bendy, had managed to live here on his own for almost twenty years, he could as well. Sammy just had to be patient.

Patient.

He'd be like Saint Monica.

.............

But he couldn’t.

….

He wanted to die. Die for real. Not this half-way stage he was imprisoned in.

He stopped eating. He stopped drinking the ink. He’d hide himself in the walls, seeing how long he could stay without air before gasping and passing out. But he couldn’t

just

DIE

LET HIM DIE

PLEASE LET HIM

He found himself in the Ink Machine room, kneeling in front of the machine like it was a blessed altar. He had no idea where else to talk to his Savior.  _“Please my Lord!! I’ve done what you’ve asked, I’ve never left, I’ve stayed I’ve watched just….Please. Please deliver us… The searchers may not have their minds but they’re still people! The angel... She's like me... She doesn't know what all she's done..... Her mind is broken. The Projectionist is nothing but a shell now... Please save us….”_ Out of the corner of his eye, he could’ve sworn he saw a cardboard figure of Bendy peek around the doorway. But when he turned to really look, he couldn’t find it.

 _“Please… I need a sign. A sign that you hear me… That I’m doing right by you. Please…. please…….”_ He careened forward, his forehead resting against the floorboards in front of the spigot. He was so tempted to just turn it on… Drown by the ink once more. _“Please….”_

He hadn’t expected to be lightly tapped on the back of his head, a small weight landing next to his ear and making him jump. He turned his head to look, and found… A book. He pulled back to sit, gingerly picking up the thick black book. He cracked it open, reading through the pages. All of it was a dark mixture of magic and sacrifice and some dark religion… Pentagrams he’d seen in the studio were listed on page 39.

He traced the picture of the pentagram with his own finger, but pulled back when the ink spread further than he desired and stained the page. He flipped through the next few pages, and found more titles. “How to Imbue Inanimate Objects with Life” was dogeared and the margins were scribbled on with pencil. “How to Make Ideas Physical” was circled, but the actual directions were scratched out. And, in all too familiar looping script, he read “Making Living Ink”. Joey had written his own…formulas in this book. And used them.

But he was made mostly of the living ink now. He could research this book.

He could help his Savior! He could learn what this book talked about.

He looked up to the machine again, hugging the now closed text to his melting chest as he beamed. _“Thank you… Thank you my Savior… I’ll learn. I’ll-… I’ll find a way to get you out of there.”_

And as he picked himself up, he could’ve sworn he heard that sweet demon’s voice.

_**….Do-……It…….Proph-……** _

He’d do it.

**… I can’t even be mad at Sammy. He heard what he heard. If only he knew it’d been “Don’t do it. You’d be the Prophet.”**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I actually have a cool idea for the next chapter involving a Sammy Lawrence song that is way too appropriate for this story. I do have work off today, so I may be able to write out and post it by tonight.)


	17. Chapter 5: Amen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sammy gets a suggestion from his Savior, and his obedience pays off in spades. 
> 
> (The song that Sammy sings is CG5's "Can I Get an Amen", found at this link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hVQtlb_U5tM Seriously, go give it a listen, it's amazing.
> 
> Also, I'll fully admit that this music scene was inspired by Lissamel's "The Pleading Prophet" (http://archiveofourown.org/works/11003178). It's so descriptive and lovely, and I adored it so much. I just had to try my take on it.)

Ever since finding the book, he’d been reading it non-stop. It gave him an immediate purpose, as well as a way to help his Savior. This book was awful and sacrilegious and tainted so much of his inner moral…. But he needed to learn what was in this book. He needed to know what Joey had been up to so he’d be able to counteract it. Maybe save some of the lost souls here in the studio.

Course, his first attempt at using what was written in the book had not gone well. He’d seen this page on how to view the outside of the studio. No sacrifice of blood -of which he was certain he barely had anymore- or of his ink, but just a few runes and a wrench to pry open one of the boarded up windows. He’d done as the page suggested, placing a few scribbles of runes on the boards before attempting to pry them away from the window. All that he got for his trouble was searing, unending burning in his eyes. He held his hands to his eyes to try and rub away the burning, and the chill of his inky hands had helped.

He was left with even blurrier vision, and a sour mood at his failed attempt. It frustrated him beyond belief at how many setbacks he was having. He just wanted to look outside! Was that so horrible??

….

Maybe it was.

He had taken a broken wooden cutout to the Ink Machine room, settling against the base of the machine as he tried to maneuver his inhuman hands with some thin rope and a swiss army knife. This was the only room that was lit enough so he could see what he was doing, but dark enough to not burn his eyes. It wasn’t going well, heightening his frustration and his annoyance, and eventually his anger. He was getting impatient.

Even after he had finished trimming the head off the broken half of the wooden cutout and had punched out the broken teeth, he wasn’t calm yet. He whittled out a pair of small holes, making the Bendy head into a proper mask. He pulled it over his head, settling it down so his eyes would be hidden from light, but he could see through the punched out teeth.

Tossing the knife to the floor, Sammy slumped against the machine. He was mad. Maybe a bit pouty, but who exactly would be here to judge him? There was Bendy, yes…. But no one else.

Just as he was ready to rest, he heard more whispers of his Lord and Savior.

_**You should play… Singing…makes you happier…..** _

…..

Did it?

He was the Music Man, the Music Department Director… But… Did music make him happy?

He tried to get up and walk toward the hallway, and found himself in the Music Department instantly. Oh. How’d that happen? … He must have been really out of it. Or he had walked this path so much his brain decided to bypass it. Even the mural, which he’d seen so many times, seemed a bit strange to him… This was Joey Drew Studios? … No. That wasn’t right.

He conceded to the idea that he was just losing his mind. Who wouldn’t in a place like this?

He hobbled his way down the left, finding the recording studio rather quickly. Bits and pieces of familiarity rung in his mind as he stood in front of a raised stage. Wooden chairs were arched toward him, with dusty instruments resting near or on the chairs. The band was typically meant to be small, with only one or two musicians on each instrument. The microphones hung down, ready to catch the sound of the band…. Except for the piano. It was pushed further back, almost at the voice actor’s recording booth. Why had it been pushed back?

As he pondered this, he stood in front of the keys, thick fingers resting on white keys and already ruining them. He was ashamed at what he could not control, and pulled his hands aw-

…. A Chord.

This piano… it was still in tune? After all these years? That seemed improbable.

…….These thoughts… He hadn’t thought about them in so long. The technicalities of music…. Something he used to be so well-versed in….

He spread his fingers out on the keys again, trying a C Major chord.

…..

He got… Exactly what he expected. A clear sound, playing to his ears as right and good. And when he lifted his hands, the sound stopped.

Bendy had been right. Music had calmed him.

He smiled beneath the ink, leaning over as he started to play a beat. In an instant, he wasn’t there. He was playing a piano in an apartment, singing clearly as Drew patted his back and Ross drew something in the background. The surrealness made him pause… He’d never remembered that clearly before.

….

Oh how could he have doubted his Savior?

He knew what to do now. He cleared his throat, then pressed down a chord again. He sung with the chord, the echoing filling the wooden room with a warmth that he’d missed, he’d missed so much. The projector clicked on, but he paid no mind to the sound. Instead, he was playing the catchy beat again. His fingers bounced with the pleasure of playing, which made his arms and torso bounce as well. His heel lifted, tapping the floor with a definite tempo.

And he sung like he had never before.

_“He comes out of the shadows~, to offer me his blessings! Emerging from the darkness, I pray you hear me, Bennndy~!”_

He hardly noticed that his hands now had five fingers, the ink still thick and concealing. But he had noticed more inky monstrosities congregating by the arched chairs on the raised stage.

 _“I hope you’ve come to save me… From this corrupted boDY~!”_   The twang was unexpected, but it fit. His voice was becoming so much clearer now, the ink clearing his mouth and lungs and- _“I’ve done so much to please you, please do the same for me!”_

He couldn’t remember being this happy since being under that spigot.

_“I am your Disciple, you know that’s true! Look at everything I~ve DONE for you, you’re here and there… and everywhere~… My love and sacrifice I’ve shared~”_

The makeshift mask slid down his face, resting around his neck like a type of silly necklace. His face was clear and bare of ink, but he was so enthralled with his own music, he paid it no mind. Instead, he sung what he remembered hearing in a church before. It was too truthful not to.

 _“Can I get an AMEN?”_   It meant So be it! And so be it… _“Amen! Can I get an Amen?? … Oh ohhh amen…”_

He may have been blasphemous to use a religious Amen for a demon, but he could feel pride and bravado building in his chest as he strung more lyrics together, and the feeling of his arms and torso thickening in firmness as ink bubbled off his skin. Maybe God would forgive him. Forgive him because he’d been tortured so much…

_“These pipes, they flow together… These pipes they flow… ForEVER and Ever~! The cogs and gears are turning, so that You may LIVE here, Bennnndy~!”_

He closed his eyes as he sung more, the slick ink sliding off his chest like water off oil. He could feel air against his legs again…. They weren’t swollen and thick as the pants anymore!

_“The plans of this ‘silly vision’~… have come InTo fruiTION~! But you’ve written your own Story and it’s like NOTHING I’ve ever Seeeeen~!”_

Was there always that thick twang playing with him? It reminded him of times when he’d direct-

_“ I’ve orchestrated music for the EpiSodes of this Sick and TWISTED lil’ children’s show, ‘n now I see you everywhere~… Sacrifice Is Alll I’ve shared- CAN I get an Aaaaaaaameeen?~”_

The chairs were occupied by ink monsters, pantomiming musicians he used to know by name and voice alone. And he swore he saw one of them vibrating against a bass, accompanying him as he played a short interlude. And another bounced with the beats of a drum, acting like the heartbeat of the entire song.

His skin was bare, his hair hung so low in front of his eyes, his muscles were screaming from misuse… But he was having the time of his life. This was what he was. He was Sammy Lawrence! Music Director of Joey Drew Studios, then Sillyvision when he and Ross poked fun at him for using his silly name as the name of the studio.

Then he was accompanied by whispers of the inky musicians, going into his chorus. _“Quake in fear for he is near, waiting for you to take a step in here. IF YOU RUN, you CAnnot hide… You’re in danger… The moment you arRIVE WHY Not relax, c’mon, have some soup… It’s probably gonna be the last thing you do. If you really don’t wanna die-“_ They all felt like yelling as they sung the last of it. _“-KEEP ON RUNNING FOR YOUR LIFE!”_

Then it was just Sammy. And he was speaking to the soul in the Ink Machine more than for himself. _“I am your Disciple, don’t you know that’s true? Look at everything I’ve done for you… You’re here and there and everywhere….”_ He swung his head back, letting the truth come straight from his strong heart and through his throat as he crooned. _“My Love is All I’ve shaaaaarrred…..”_

This is Truth. So be it.

He was born with a song in his heart… He had to make sure it made it out just right.

_“CAN I Get an Amen….?”_

He let his eyes open, and he saw the ceiling. It was golden and yellow, with the undertone of grey as dust swam around.

He and the dark musicians crooned amens and scat singing, and he almost saw true human figures sitting in the seats, playing their instruments with him.

And then… It was over.

_“Can I get an Amen?”_

His name was Sammy W….. No. Just Sammy Lawrence. And he was in this studio. Looking down at the piano, he saw the previously white keys beginning to stain. His four bulbous fingers dripped ink… And here he was staining the piano. He pulled away, almost stepping on a puddle that was one of the ink monsters.

….How strange. What had he been doing here? … His Savior suggested he sing. And he did. But what had he sung?

…….He wasn’t mad anymore. He was... Something. There was a lightness in his chest that even the ink couldn’t push down. And he felt oddly elated. Looking down at the piano again, he found a tape recorder.

This time, he knew exactly what to talk about. Something to remind him. So he pushed the record button.

 _“He appears from the shadows to rain his sweet blessings upon me. The figure of ink that shines in the darkness.”_ He passed a cutout on the wall, smiling in his tone as he said _“I see you, my Savior.”_ He blinked, and suddenly he was in a hallway. The utility shaft. … No matter. He was recording now. _“I pray that you hear me.”_ I hope that you hear me was what he’d meant to say… But that seemed to fit better. _“Those old songs, yes, I still sing them. For I know you are coming to save me.”_ He’d be saved. They’d be saved. _“And I will be swept into your final loving embrace.”_

And then… Something he remembered Joey saying. Something bad, but true. _“But, love requires sacrifice.”_ He knew what he could do. He knew what he’d do the minute he’d find someone else down here in this hell of a studio. He’d do what he had studied in that god-awful book. Find a way to give his Savior a true body. He’d read it and seen it. He just needed to take the role that the book required.

He’d be the Prophet. The being who could call his Savior without fear of repercussion, to convince him to take a human body. Just so they could get out of here. Break this awful spell that had to be on the building, and the ink beings within.

So be it. Truth.

He pulled his mask back up as he smiled, whispering a final sentence.

_“Can I get an amen?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (So help me God I will figure out links on this site.)


	18. Chapter 6: Sick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sammy isn't the only one here anymore. And he gets a nasty surprise.

He’d been surprised when power flickered on and off.

All his time being here since he’d been forced under that spigot, the power had never been unreliable. But here he was, struggling to read the book in his lap as lights struggled to stay on. He stood up, ready to investigate just what happened when the lights cut out.

… Now that was just strange.

Of course, he said this being stuck in a studio where pentagrams appeared along with coffins, ink monsters crawled down the halls, and his Savior was a cartoon he used to compose for. Strange was relative at this point.

He walked towards the stairs, and in an instant, he found himself on the animation floor again. It’d been a while since he’d been up here, yet… Everything looked just a little off. The lights were steady up here. Maybe the power breaker had finally given out, making his floor dark. Oh well. He knew where the main power switch was downstairs. He’d be okay. The lack of light was helping his eyes, making him able to see through his mask just a little easier.

And… Then he realized the lights weren’t completely working. There were just a lot of lit candles all around here. He should light some candles on his floor until the power was working again. Maybe there were candles in the Ink Machine Room….

He started toward the room, humming to himself as he stepped around the Ink Machine and pulled open the drawers of a dresser. The topmost didn’t have anything in them, which didn’t surprise him. Joey was much like Bendy in the cartoon: hilariously short compared to the others around him. Plus, he didn’t trust himself to set things up high in case he was reduced to his crutches or even a wheelchair. But Sammy was happy to find a literal armload of candles in the lowest drawer. He started back to the stairs, but realized one fairly important detail: he didn’t have a match or a lighter. This would mess up his plans just slightly.

Grumbling a little, he started back to the hallway where he’d seen pedestals before. Nothing in there… So he walked down the hallway.

And dropped his candles with a choked scream.

That was a person!! Bolted against a slanted table and ribs were open and-

Cool metal rested on his wrists and elbows…. his neck as well….. pinned to a table…barely move! His arms were useless with how tight they were, and he could barely breathe, let alone turn his head!! And a few quick kicks told him that metal had pinned his knees to the table as well. No leverage to push away…

He backed away, ink choking him in this throat as he hyperventilated and tried to scream at the same time.

HE WAS STUCK

HE WAS G O I N G T O D I E

He fell to his knees, keeping his eyes to the poor person’s feet. …..Feet that….Were….Not human.

After a moment to gather himself, Sammy forced himself to look up. This wasn’t a human. It was a tall creature…. And it wasn’t bolted down with metal. It was tied down with leather straps. And that wasn’t a human face in the slightest. He forced himself up to his melting feet, almost reaching up to hold it… But freezing. This wasn’t a human. It was an all too familiar face.

 **Boris.** Boris the Wolf.

He was strapped down to this table, his cartoonish ribs pulled apart from his skin and yet not staining his overalls. This wasn’t anything but a display. Someone who could rip a being, even someone as tall and strong as Boris, and set them on display like a trophy??

It made him sick. He nearly was, but stopped himself by clapping a hand over his mouth and nearly knocking his mask off. And then he saw the words on the wall.

“WHO’S LAUGHiNG NOW?”

Who’d be laughing at a display like this?? He turned, running from the room. He ran head first into a now closed door, falling to the ground. Comical as that might have been, he held himself on all fours, heaving heavily as ink churned his stomach and those painful images from earlier still echoed in his mind….

Had his Savior always been everywhere? There were so many cutouts and images of him… Far more than there had been just a little while ago.

This was ALL WRONG.

WRONG

W R O N G

EVERYTHINGWASWRONG WHY WAS EVERYTHING WRO-

He blinked as a few of the fallen candles rolled toward him.

…..Right. Right! … He was…

He started to pick up a few candles, tucking them in one arm as he pulled himself up to a crouch. Once he’d grabbed enough, he started to run to the stairs. He had barely picked up speed when he ran into the Music Department mural.

He couldn’t break for logic though, he needed to pick the candles up AGAIN! So he did, only stopping to set a few along shelves or tables for light. But… He didn’t have a match!

….No. But he’d used to smoke. So had 85% of the musicians here…..

He found a matchbox in the same room as the mural was. He wanted to curse his own stupidity, but he was too focused on lighting the candles and bringing back a semblance of light back in the studio. And once every candle had been lit, he had limped against a wall. This was a bit much… He’d only just gotten back into singing! He’d just finished composing his first piece since drowning under that spigot; a nice piece named after this studio. “The Lighter Side of Hell”. All this running couldn’t be good for him…..

He stayed right where he was.

This was a terrible, terrible day.

And then he heard the front door open. The creaks were so loud in this quiet studio.

….WAIT.

He heard the door open?!?

SOMEONE CAME??

He rushed to the higher utility shaft, only to be greeted with a voice.

“Alright Joey. I’m here. Let’s see if we can find what you wanted me to see.”


	19. Chapter 7: Failure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> F A I L U R E
> 
> Couldn't do one simple thing....

Sammy could almost feel his heart drop back into his stomach when he heard that voice. Someone was in the studio… His first thought being “who in their right mind would want to be here” was overrode by his secondary “A body for his Savior! Finally!!”

He’d be freed of this place. He couldn’t remember how long he’d been here, suffering in the quiet, but he knew what he had to do. He said he’d find a way to help his Savior once another poor soul had come down here, and he’d do just that!

…Only… He didn’t remember the exact details.

Foolish, foolish, stupid, STUPID SAMMY!! He held his fists on either side of his head, hitting against his left temple under the mask. He’d been so stupid! He knew the basics of it: he had to proclaim himself as the Prophet, calling Bendy as his Lord. Just needed to call him out…  He needed to sacrifice this person in a specialized pentagram, with runes written just so… Hopefully, he could do this without turning on the Ink Machine. Bendy begged him to not turn it on, and he wouldn’t! He’d just need to open the top of it, try and find something of his Savior in the inky abyss that he could work with. Like the bowtie. … That’d be small enough to grab, but perfect to use!

He needed the finer details, and for that, he needed the book again.

Running to the Ink Machine Room, he found himself…In a tiny room. Why was he in such a tiny room?? He could reach out with both hands and touch both sides of the walls, it was so small. And without a type of window or keyhole to look out of, Sammy was blind as well as stuck.

He must really have a terrible type of luck. But at least the room was lit. And a small radio that was playing sat right next to him. He breathed in a quiet sigh of relief, but stiffened once more. The intruder was right outside the door! They’d logically try to go to the room that was illuminated given how dark the studio was! And the radio wouldn’t just turn off, he would be caught, he’d be found out before it was time!

And then the door handle jiggled. Sammy was pretty sure he was going to panic right then and there.

……And then it jiggled again.

He held a hand over his mouth as he breathed out utter relief. So his luck wasn’t complete garbage. The door was locked! And even now, he heard the steps of the intruder pass by the door. ….On the way to Joey’s office….

Oh no.

“So this is the Ink Machine, huh? Wonder how you turn it on.”

OH NO.

The floor seemed to groan with him as realization sunk in.

He had to stop this intruder -the voice told him the intruder was a man- from turning the machine on. But… He had no idea how! He couldn’t very well just push out of this room yet… He honestly didn’t know how he got in this closet, he needed to-

**_Shhhhhhh… It’s okay, Music Man. Let him try._ **

Just hearing his Savior’s voice echo in his mind was enough to put his mind at ease. He hadn’t failed yet… And even Bendy himself was reassuring him. He just needed to stay calm. Calm and settled so he could think this through in a logical manner.

Then he heard a loose board slam against the floor, his own gasp accompanying the intruder’s as the sound pierced the silence of the studio. Damn this studio! The building had never scared him this much before; every sound was setting him on edge and making him paranoid.

Okay. He just needed to get out. Get back down to the Music Department.

Collecting himself, he turned the small knob of the door handle acting as a lock and walked out. In the distance, he heard the intruder speak again. “Alright! …How do I get this to work?” He must have found the trophy room. Heh… It was fairly easy to figure out if you knew where to look. But he doubted an intruder knew exactly what to find. Especially in this run-down of a building. As he walked to the stairs, he noticed the wooden cut-out in a farther hallway. Strange, he hadn’t moved that… Did the intruder?

Judging by the quick gasp that followed, he had not! He took the split second that the intruder was distracted, dashing toward the stairs again. He’d only caught the barest sound of a shocked “Who put this here?!” as he made his way back to the utility shaft. Though…. That tone brushed against bits of his memory that he hadn’t expected.

A man that was constantly teased for his far-too-calm demeanor. Latching onto this man when there was someone strange yelling…. A rare smile from the man, and his laugh was rarer. Sharing a meal at a diner, lamenting on how demeanor had changed to downright monotone since he came back…. Ro-

Just as quickly as it came, it was gone. He was standing in a hallway, the dark book in his hands. When had he grabbed it? Oh his head hurt…. He held his head by the temple, his body feeling twice as heavy and thrice as exhausted.

….AND HE WAS IN THE DAMN CLOSET AGAIN.

With the sound of the intruder coming closer again.

His frustration overrode his exhaustion, trying to find a way to quietly deter the intruder away again. And that’s when his eye caught the light switch. ….Maybe he could just shut the light off? The switches were old and made such a loud noise when flipped.

No harm in testing it out at least. As the footsteps got closer, Sammy reached for the light switch by the door. It was hard to do with the light blinding him even through the mask, but eventually he could feel the little tab against his index and middle fingers. And not a moment too soon because he could hear the steps getting even closer. So he shut the light off.

It was almost comical how he could hear the intruder gasp and jump, an extra few taps against the floor as they ran down the hall. Heh… He’d scared the intruder.

Hah! It was always fun spooking the unshakeable Ro-

Oh his head hurt again. He needed to stop getting distracted. He needed to make it back down to the Music Department.

 ** _Don’t panic there_** _Sammy! Just open the door. **It’ll take you back down to your department!**_

For a moment, Sammy’s head pulsed with a headache. How strange; hearing Bendy in his head had never caused this much distress before.

But he didn’t doubt the suggestion in the slightest. Bendy’s suggestions always worked! So he opened the door again, smiling as he walked over the threshold and into the utility shaft. This was close enough for him. He closed the door behind him, immediately opening the book after to look through the pages. He needed to find the right pages….

Page 307 through 308. There we go. Smiling lightly, he re-read over the page of instructions. It required a Prophet to call the Being, the specific pentagram and runes drawn in a circle around some kind of base, and a doorway to invite the Being in. He was set! He could do this….

 **_NO NO NO!!_ ** _Oh GOD this HURTS! **MUSIC MAN-** SAMMY WES! _

He cowered at the yelling that suddenly bellowed and echoed in his head, his book dropping to the floor as he slapped his hands over his ears. Counter-intuitive or not, it hurt so badly, what did he do?? What did he do wrong??

 **_Who did that?? Who’s this man down the hallway? I gotta-_ ** _Don’t look around you dimwit! He’ll not come over! **Oh right, sorry!**_

 _“My Lord! Please, you’re so loud…!”_ He begged, the sound of his own voice breaking and hurting his head so badly… He

And all of a sudden… The lights flickered off in the building once more. The broken voice had stopped and it was replaced by thick, gurgling sounds of something in the walls.

A familiar sound he hadn’t heard in so long… When had he heard this before? He looked up, his eyes bulging beneath the mask as he saw the thick pipes pulsing with Ink. The pipes… The Ink Machine was working.

He had failed.

**_Ow our head…._ **

He failed Bendy. The few things he’d been asked to do, and he failed.

 **_Owwww…. This hurts so much… Make it stop_ ** _I don’t know how! **Please try!**_

He failed…..

**_….HENRY!!!_ **

….What?? Wh-… Why would they call Henry?? A man who wasn’t here, didn’t want to be here, he couldn’t blame him

**_Don’t run!_ **

He wasn’t running, why was his Lord speaking like this??

He hurt…. His head hurt and pounded like a drum, the ink dripped down the walls like twisted horror show…. When had there been violins playing? Acting like a living soundtrack to terrify??

….

Sammy Lawrence failed. He couldn’t do one simple thing. He’d let the machine turn on. Whether or not his own Savior had sounded nonchalant about it at first, he’d still failed.

….But he’d do what he could. He’d give his Savior a proper body. Not just ink acting as a body in this real world.

And then they’d be saved.

He just needed to change up a few things.


	20. Chapter 8: Scathed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's so impatient now. But he's so close!! He will do right by his Savior... And show this intruder that you do not intrude on his home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((Y'all knew this was coming!! And I may be super excited with this one. Henry has no idea what's in store. And frankly, neither does Sammy.))

It’d taken some clever thinking, and more than a few sheets of paper to scribble on, but he had an idea of what to do. He just needed to pull off the improbable and hope that this intruder was curious as he’d once been. Sammy sat on the floor, the book resting by his left knee, and multiple papers circling around him as he tapped the pen against his tongue. The ritual could go as planned… He just needed a stronger way to call Bendy to the sacrifice. He didn’t know exactly what that would be, but he needed to focus on the remainder of the ritual.

So he needed a stronger way to call Bendy to him. And be able to direct him straight to the sacrifice. Apparently, the ritual would be a lot more violent if the Being was somewhat alive as is, so maybe he’d have to tie up the sacrifice. But the drawings would be the same, and Sammy was still able to stand in as the acting Prophet for the ritual.

It was at this point, his remaining sanity had peeked through and questioned him. Why was he doing this? Surely this intruder could see that this studio was Hell on earth. And if he simply helped the man back to the outside, that would be the end of it. No Satanic rituals to pull at his few moral cords and make him question his existence and his faith.

…

But what WOULD happen if that intruder got out? He had no idea what the date was. Was it one year since he’d been under that damned spigot, or ten? What would a normal person think of this place? …. They’d condemn it. Knock it down immediately. Not even bothering to come inside and find out the truth. Joey would get away with murder, and no one would know… And Bendy would die here. His Savior, who had don’t nothing but entertain and help and save, and his eternal reward would be death by condemnation.

And everyone here would remain stuck.

….  
It was too late now. He had to go through with this. Everyone was riding on him growing a damn spine and just doing the damn ritual. Once the ritual was completed, his Savior would have his own human body, able to move in this human realm.

He stood up, his heart pounding in his own chest with the beat of a drum. He couldn’t be scared. He had a job to do. And first things first… He needed to move this cut-out and get out of the utility shaft.

Not just because of the images of his Savior were getting a bit much, of course. But he realized something he could do to keep an eye on his department. A few of the pentagrams that had been scattered across the walls looked oddly similar to the one on page 73 of his book. “How to View through Unviewing Eyes”. While this was more to be used with a camera, this still worked as long as the “thing” had something to view with. Like pie-cut eyes on a cut-out for example. And he needed to catch this damn intruder off guard. To do that, he needed more eyes. So did his Savior.

Just as he was ready to take off, he heard the sound of wood shattering and splintering. It almost sounded like an axe… All he needed was for him to get cut down by an axe, bleed out ink and blood on the floor. He kicked his book away, stomping on some of the papers so that his inky footsteps could be of some use and smudge the pages. And in a sheer moment of panic, he’d stuffed himself inside the wall. On one hand, he wanted to curse Joey up and down for making the walls so damn thick and wasting space. But, on the other, it made for a quick hiding spot. And not a moment too soon, for he could see someone coming down the Utility Shaft stairs, wielding an axe.

The man who wielded the axe was… Surprisingly older than he thought. By hearing his voice, he thought he’d been in his twenties, maybe thirties. But no. The man in front of him, eyeing the surroundings with a sharp eye, looked closer to a young fifty or sixty. With ink-stained clothes and salt-and-peppered seasoned hair, and a face… He couldn’t see the face clearly, but he could hear him. “How did this place get so big?”

He almost wanted to scoff; how would this intruder know? It wasn’t like he’d lived in this studio. He had.

The man leaned forward a little more, pressing against something on Sammy’s wall.

 _“He appears from the shadows-…”_ Oh. He hadn’t noticed this was where his tape recorder was. And here this intruder was, listening to it. Honestly, he didn’t mind it. The man seemed to be lost -as an intruder should be- but at the very least, he didn’t have something awful with him. No gun, no satchel to hide valuables away. For an intruder, he was being courteous at least.

And then Sammy heard the scoff, and the man setting the tape recorder down. _“-save me. And I will be swept into your final loving embrace.”_ That had done it. He wanted to get even with the man. He had no idea what had been doing through his mind when he recorded that, and here he was, making assumptions. And worse yet? Scoffing at him. That just infuriated him. _“But, love requires sacrifice. Can I get an amen?” The man tsked, turning away and mumbling something under his breath.  
_  
And clearly shocked with he heard Sammy in the present day, echoing around him. _“I SAID, can I get an Amen?”_

It was worth the startled expression on the man’s face before he hobbled away. Had his face been more bare, the grin on his face would be downright wolfish, he was so pleased with himself for scaring the intruder.

As the footsteps fell towards a different part of the hallway, Sammy pushed himself out of the wall. He surprised himself by landing in a small security office…. But no keys were to be seen. Just a wooden cut-out of Bendy.

He easily picked up the wooden cut-out, holding it against his right side as he left the room and found himself walking down the hallway. He just barely recognized this area as the doorway before the Music room; if this was the case, he needed to set this cut-out by the pentagram down the corridor. He strode with a purpose, ignoring the intruder on the left as he waded through the ink that nearly reached his waist. But he couldn't stop the song escaping his mouth. " _Sheep sheep sheep... It's time for sleep..._ "

“Hello! Excuse me! Can you help me?!” Sammy just ignored the man, setting the wooden figure by the pentagram. “Hello?”

He closed his eyes on seeing the pentagram, and opened them once more to find himself in his office.

…. He had no time to consider or think about this teleportation. He needed to watch this intruder. And he could see… A part of his mind’s eye focusing in on this intruder. In addition to being older than he sounded, Sammy noticed that this man walked with a slight limp. Had he been injured? This man wore glasses, and he was rather thick. Thick arms with a puffed chest, a slightly thickened waistline… It would make him feel self-conscious about his own willowy body in a different time and place. This intruder… He was strong. That much he could tell. Old and strong. He’d have to try and stay out of his way… Wait for the perfect opportunity to strike.

Sammy watched as the man wandered around the Music Department, his stomach angrily churning. This man was just blindly and rudely going to any room that was open, listening to audio recordings that weren’t his, and swinging that damned axe at any piece of wood he could manage. Frankly, he glad that the pentagrams worked as they did, revitalizing the wooden cut-outs when they were cut down. And apparently, he was not the only one upset at this intruder’s rudeness; the inky monstrosities would peek up from the ground, clawing at the man only to be struck down by an axe. He had to admire the mindless beasts’ tenacity; no matter how many were struck down, more would follow.

And then the bastard was thinking about going into his office.

Oh he’d take great pleasure in offering this intruder’s mind and soul for Bendy’s.

It’d been when the man started to figure out how to get into Sammy’s sanctuary that Sammy had truly started to get worried. If that flow was turned off, the intruder could get into his office. Mess and alter the insides without a care in the world, and then use the pump switch to drain the stairs.

He couldn’t let this happen.

And before he knew it, the intruder had made it into the sanctuary. And he could hear the flow of ink change near his head. He stood up, glaring down at the intruder as he entered the sanctuary. He really had half a mind to go down there right then and there to knock the man out. But he waited for the man to leave the sanctuary first.

As he glared at the man, he couldn’t help the anger boiling in him. Was it irrational? Definitely. Was he going to act on that anger though? …. No. He was going to get the man, that much was certain. But he needed him alive and fairly unharmed.

And he was about 90% certain that the man was staring up to him once he’d left the sanctuary.

That was….slightly disconcerting.

Thankfully, the inky beings came to his aid rather quickly. They swarmed the intruder, giving Sammy a fighting chance to leave the small office and make it to the Music Department hallways. He'd stayed out of sight, watching as the man trudged down the stairs to the infirmary to turn off the second valve. The urge to jump the intruder once he was in his office was great. Almost too much so…

But that would not work. He’d be cornered. And the intruder was stronger than he was. A little on the short side, but still.

No… He’d wait at the first hallway. Lull this awful, cruel intruder into a false sense of security, letting him see the empty stairwell before he striked. And he knew just what to use.

That wrench… Something that had helped him before, that now rested by the door of the office. He picked up the heavy tool, hanging by the darkness of the hallway. Sure enough, the intruder had come back out. He was heading toward the stairs… Only for Sammy to slam the wrench against the back of the intruder’s head with a resounding CLANG!

And the strong man crumpled to the floor so easily and quickly.

Sammy smiled at his luck, and yet, another image came to mind. The cartoon. A rhyme he could remember sweet Boris singing as he had crooned sheep to sleep with his clarinet. … Eh. He might as well sing it the rest of it. He was in a good mood that this stupid plan worked out well.

_“Rest your head~ It’s time for bed~.”_


	21. Chapter 9: Disgraced

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to say goodbye once more. 
> 
> Because Bendy didn't need a body. He needed a Prophet, but for a much different reason.

In retrospect, maybe rhyming to a man he’d just knocked out would be rather creepy. Well, not like the man would be aware much longer to berate him.

Sammy let his wrench drop by his feet, sighing gently as he realized he hadn’t fleshed out this part of the plan. Where was he going to take this man? He needed a large doorway. And a “base” of sorts. Someplace that could handle a violent possession. Downstairs would've been preferable, but he didn't want that damned angel or her wayward creations mucking it up. Leaning over, he took hold of the man’s shirt and experimentally gave a tug. And damn, this man was as heavy as he expected. Sammy’s only real advantage was height, so he had more to leverage with, but his stick-thin arms were lacking in strength. He needed some kind of boost….

When was the last time he ate or drank?

The thought blindsided him, and it was so bizarre he actually took a moment to consider. He hadn’t eaten the soup in a long time… Last time had been when he wrote “The Lighter Side of Hell”. And as far as ink, he hadn’t touched the stuff in-……

Oooooh. He hadn’t drunk or bathed in ink since he had received his dark book. He hadn’t even thought about it, given his appetite for the liquid had almost disappeared. And he was constantly dripping ink, so the need to have it wasn’t as strong as before. Maybe now though… It could give him the extra boost to just make it through the rest of this ritual.

He sped toward one of the offices, pleased to find one of the ink delivery knobs sticking out of the wall. He had turned the knob on to a slow trickle, cupping his hands under the small nozzle to catch the ink. The ink was a little faster than normal, but just as thick as chocolate syrup as he pulled his hands up and slurped up the refreshing ink. As it slid down his throat, Sammy smacked his lips and sighed in relief. He felt excited and exhilarated, and he had barely done a thing! He stuck his hands under the trickle of ink, intent on taking one more drink. And it had been just as cooling and refreshing as the first. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he shut off the small nozzle before bounding back to the fallen body. This time when he grabbed the man’s shirt, he hardly broke a metaphorical sweat when he drug him a few feet. But getting around corners and going above thresholds was going to be more difficult, and he didn’t want the intruder to wake up.

Quickly pushing the man onto his back, he heaved the man to sit against a wall before picking up the axe. He needed a straight path to the room he knew would work best; one of their first projector rooms. It was unbearably hot in the room, making reviewing and watching the final product of the cartoons a horrible experience before it’d been moved upstairs. But! There was load-bearing beams in the room. And a giant industrial door. And even speakers that lead straight to a small window so he could throw his voice. It was literally the perfect room to use.

Just blocked off.

He picked up the axe, lifting his foot for leverage before stomping it down in time with his swing, axe chopping the boards that blocked the door. …Had he himself gotten stronger? Or was this axe just particularly durable?

_No matter. Keep chopping._

He did as the stray thought suggested, easily chopping through the first boarded up door. And then the second. The third one made him exasperated rather quickly, and he swung just a little faster. The fourth door was the final straw, and he had kicked the boards angrily.

_DAMN DOOR AND DAMN BENDY!!!_

He stopped himself on a dime, surprised at the intrusive thought. He’d… He’d never say such a thing. And certainly not damn his Savior….

_Savior?? Hah. You are such a joke, Sammy Wes._

He shuddered at the tone his thoughts were taking, shaking his head violently as he chopped through the final board. That wasn’t him. That wasn’t his Savior. That was… Something entirely different. Angry and bickering and nasty-sounding.

Setting the axe to the side, he quickly grabbed a loop of rope to drape over his arm and traced the pentagram and runes on the floor before running back to the man. Still unconscious… That didn’t sit right with him, so he knelt down and held the man’s thick wrist in his own, fingers pressing down hard against the soft of the wrist. …. Oh good. There was a pulse. He was just unconscious for a while, he wasn’t truly dead.

_Should be…. How did he make it through Germany?_

_“Stop that.”_ He firmly stated. He couldn’t be anymore distracted right now. Thankfully, the voice quieted down immediately, and Sammy could go back to work in peace. With some strain and effort, Sammy had pulled the intruder close and got his chest over his own inky shoulder. Once he had pulled himself to his own feet, the intruder’s own feet cleared the ground. Despite the other’s weight, this really was an easier way to move the man! Sammy could carry him without tripping up at corners or hurting the man on splinters or raised boards. So he did just that, lugging the man to the old projector room. Even if the journey made him out of breath, he had done it! And now, he just needed to balance the man against the load-bearing beam….

It was easier than he expected, the man stiff in his hold as he clumsily tied tight knots around his wrists and pinned him to the beam. He’d been about to let the man sit, but his knees had locked and kept him standing.

_Christ, this man is a horse!!_

For once, he had to agree with the voice…

And he could see the man start to stir. Oh good… He was awake.

 _“There we go. Nice and tight. We wouldn’t want our sheep roaming away now, would we?”_ His own words shocked him… But all he could do was admit _“No, we wouldn’t.”_

Damn these intrusive thoughts…

….

No. He wouldn’t apologize anymore.

He was stuck here. Stuck down here for years. Unable to tell when one day ended and another began, unable to eat, drink, or go outside, no matter what he did. ….Oh he wished he could be like this man. This intruder who came down to his level out of sheer curiosity. _“I must admit I am….honored you came all the way down here to visit me. It almost makes what I’m about to do seem cruel.”_

….

But he had a job to do. And others depended on him. _“But the believers must honor their Savior. I must have him notice me.”_

He looked to the man’s face, and was struck dumb. It was…Wrong but familiar. That hair used to be such a distinct shade of brown and thick as wool, but was thinning and sprinkled with spots of grey at the temples. That face had certainly seen better days, but coupled with a pair of dark blue eyes… That defiant scowl instead of confusion or panic…..

_“Wait…. You look familiar to me… that face…”_

….Ro-

_**Sammy! Not now! He’s going to break free!** _

_“Not now. For our lord is calling to us, my little sheep. The time of sacrifice is at hand.”_ …Poor choice of words. But he was tired. So tired of the voices conflicting in his head. Tired… So tired………. _“And then, I will finally be freed from this… prison. This inky…dark… abyss I call a body.”_

He saw the intruder about to speak, but the sound of clambering was so loud above them! Oh thank God, Bendy was near! He wouldn’t have to call as loudly! _“SHHH. Quiet! I can hear him. Crawling above. Crawling!”_

It was almost over.

_“Let us begin. The ritual must be completed! Soon he will hear me… he will set us free.”_

Amen. So be it.

He turned away from the intruder, already starting to struggle against the ropes, and walked out of the projector room. It was a quick turn into a smaller room, and he shut the door behind him as he flicked on a microphone.

Now what was an easy way to call Bendy? What had happened in Sheep Songs? …. Oh. Boris had sung something. It had called Bendy so easily in the show, spooking him and the sheep alike. Boris hadn’t been completely fleshed out at the time, but he and sheep would have the typical relationship that sheep and wolves had.

_“Sheep, sheep, sheep. It’s time for sleep.~ Rest your head. It’s time for bed.~ In the morning, you may wake.~ Or in the morning, you’ll be dead.~”_

And now…. Time to be the Prophet. To be what Bendy asked. He started to open the industrial door, calling out to his Savior.

 _“Hear me, Bendy!! Arise from the darkness! Arise and claim my offering! Free me! I beg yoU!”_ Where was he?? Where was Bendy?? He was supposed to be coming through that door!!

Anger struck his tone as he yelled more, using the actual text he’d seen in the book. _“I summon you, ink demon! SHOW YOUR FACE and take this TENDER SHEEP!”_

The door next to him had bursted off the hinges, scaring him out of his wits and out of his concentration. And that was before he saw the hulking ink incarnation just outside the door. It was bigger than the other beasts, and stronger too! With one piercing white eye… Pointed tips of what could be horns…. And a single white bowtie.

He couldn’t even process what he saw, the figure bursting through the door and grasping Sammy by the throat with a growl. He was thrown to the floor, his hands struggling to find purchase against the much bigger hand against his poor throat.

_“NO! My Lord! STAY BACK! I am your Prophet!”_

Why was Bendy not listening to him?! He could feel his mask being torn off, the light blinding him as he struggled and kicked and fought to get out. Everything was going wrong! Why was this happening??

He couldn’t see the balloon-like item in the creature’s other hand. Or understand the growls were simply of pain and not malice.

No. Instead, he saw his Savior choking him. Pinning him to the floor like he was trash…

_“I AM YOUR-“_

He could only scream before his Savior forced something down his throat.

He….couldn’t breathe….

He failed

Bendy

I’m so sorry

…..

…

..

.

**And… I’m sorry. That is the last thing Sammy himself ever thought.**

**I’m sorry Sammy. I’m so sorry.... You didn’t fail. You were jus’ not told right. Mixed the messages up and you only heard half of everything…**

**I know Bendy can’t hear ya anymore. But he feels bad. And I guess… So does Joey. In his own strange way.**

**But I’ll do right by ya, Buddy.**

**You tried to get us and everyone else out. I’mma help you finish that.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Imagination cursed us all with Life.  
> Shamed and defaced, scathed and disgraced.  
> Tainted by hatred and can't be-"
> 
> -JT Machinima


	22. Tonight's Episode: Erased!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your written fate can't be erased!

**.**

**..**

**…**

**…..**

**……..**

**_-I’m the Dancing Demon, watch me Twirl ‘n Hop ‘n SpiN!~_ **  
**_I’m QUIIICK to give a Smile, ya should See My Happy Grin~!_ **

**Oh wow. He could see stars above his head. Shaking his head, he started to sit up, shaking his head as a sound of a cowbell played in his ear. Gosh… What hit him?**

**He could hear the angry sounds around him, which spooked him more than anything. He backed up from his position on the floor, knocking his back against the wall as his tail quivered and curled between his legs. That was terrifying out there! He could hear screams…**

**Then the surrealness hit him like an oversized mallet over his head.**

**He… Had died. Twice even. He could remember that. Drowning…and then by choking?**

**No, that was silly. He wasn’t dead. He was sitting right here. His name was**

Sammy **-Boris-** Wes **-the-** Lawrence **-Wolf**

**…..Hang on a tick there, lets try that again.**

**His name was**

**SammyWesLawrenceBorisTheWolf**

**…..Okay. That was not helpful. In fact it was downright weird.**

**Shaking his head once more, he swung himself back before hopping onto his feet, brushing off his pants with his gloved hands. He could hear faint whistling, though he couldn’t place the song.**

**His name…. Okay, that was all mixed up. But he knew other things that were right!!**

**He was a**

**Music** Man **-Mechanic-** Director **-J** ac **k o** f Tr **ad** e **s**

**......**

**He had friends named**

**Bendy the Demon-** Joseph Bartholomew Drew **-Alice Angel-** Susie Campbell **-** Henry Elias Ross **-**

**He whined at the pounding in his head, reaching up and pulling his ears down. They nearly stretched down to his shoulders, but he just wanted to physically work out some of this anxiety! Why was so much strange and wrong??**

**….And then he remembered something. He clapped a hand to his chest, feeling for something…. He’d… He’d been upstairs. And then torn open. Not even as a gag like was common in slapstick, but torn open in a gruesome manner. A cut straight down his stomach, with two lil’ cuts right above his overalls and another two slanted lines by his collarbone. A quick pat-down revealed…. Just that. But they were healed? Even by cartoon standards, he should have at least felt something more visible. A thick stitching, pieces of tape, or even a zipper! But instead, he could feel scars! Thickened skin that was raised ever so slightly. If he hadn’t been looking, he would’ve missed it just because of his thick fur.**

**...**

**Oh.**

**More thoughts started to trickle in. A mixture of memories and facts that were disconnected at first, starting to piece together like the world’s most bizarre puzzle.**

**His name was Boris the Wolf. But this body had belonged to Sammy Wes Lawrence.**

**He’d been born to a litter of six, with a mama and papa who loved him. His body had been dumped in a home with barely a name to call his own; he’d had to come up with his whole name.**

**He’d loved playing the clarinet, but hardly called a crowd to listen. But the sheep loved his playing! His body loved all kinds of instruments, and could always pull in a crowd to listen, no matter what he played. It was how he’d met his friend Drew. It’d also been how Boris met Bendy.**

**Sheep Songs. That’s when his consciousness started. But not his body’s.**

**And Bendy…**

**He could remember the whispers. Not the ones his body had heard, but ones he’d hear Bendy slip his way. Mr. Joey Drew had figured out a way for Bendy and him to share a single body. So the Creator had wanted to do the same for others here. He’d gone out of his way and bought the rights to Alice Angel back! He’d seen her in the studio more since he’d been here…. And he knew that Mr. Joey had sent out more letters than the ones Sammy Wes and Henry had gotten. He knew that a lady named Susie had come down here... She had gone behind Joey's back and tried to do something bad. That was right when he met that strange version of Alice... The mean, half-melted one. Who brought him from the projector. Brought him to life so many times, only to tear out his inky heart.**

**He could remember all of what his body had done…. He had to be impressed. The man was almost as stubborn as he was, but not bound by Cartoon Logic like he was. And if he remembered right… Mr. Sammy Wes had been in this studio for almost eight years! But the man had never thought it was that long. But he stayed.**

**He had stayed because there were others down here. He stayed because he wanted to help.**

**And now… Mr. Joey and Bendy were supposed to combined. Bendy was supposed to be the mind of Mr. Joey, but it hadn’t worked as well. Mr. Joey’s leg and height hadn’t matched Bendy, making this strange off-model amalgamation that tried to match what was right…. Bendy was stuck in puddles. Mr. Joey as a lanky character who controlled the ink around him.**

**But Mr. Sammy Wes had been made on-model. At least physically. It made the little additions, like his tail, his ears, his snout, his feet, and even his clothes easy to adjust and make him on-model.**

**So he was 100% Boris!**

**And Sammy was…. In lack of a better term… Erased.**

**A yell interrupted his thoughts, as well as the sound of a chase. ….A Chase towards him!!**

**He yelped, booking it around a corner and hiding against the shelves. He could feel his body shiver and shake, not wanting to be caught in the crossfire! He heard the door slam shut, one of the participants in the chase forced to stop and gasp at the door.**

**STILL SCARED THOUGH. He had no idea who was in the room with him!! How could he- Oh no opps! He had accidentally knocked a can of Bacon Soup off the shelves, and it was rolling away before he could catch it!**

**Gulping heavily, Boris was expecting to be attacked or yelled at, and his body was just as terrified.**

**Instead, he got a genuinely worried tone calling out to him.**

“Hello? Someone there?”

**NOPE. NO ONE BUT US SHEEP HERE!!**

"I know you’re in here… Come out and show yourself.”

  **….Oh. He knew that voice. So did his body.**

Ross. Henry Ross. A good friend… They’d lived together more than they had with Drew. He’d been in the war. They were friends.

**His anxiety melted off, manifesting as a tiny bubble of ink that he wiped away with his hand before walking around the corner.**

**It was Henry! Older for sure, but he knew that face! That shocked and bewildered face that was now wrinkled with age and fine scars. Boris could only smile, tilting his head as he looked to his body’s friend.**

“…..Boris??”

**No doubt he had questions. Who wouldn’t? But, so long as this inky heart was beating inside this borrowed body, he’d help Henry.**

**They needed to get out. But good Golly was he glad to have his friend here.**


	23. Epilogue: A Simple Inspiration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back when the studio was starting up, and Henry Ross had an idea.

The day was beyond calm. Which was a complete contrast from what was going on inside Joey Drew Studios.

Sammy was playing the piano like his life depended on it, and he was getting more and more frustrated the longer he played. Henry could already sense that the younger man would probably snap in a few minutes, so he kept wisely quiet. But he wasn’t in much better shape quite honestly.

They’d done good: the first cartoon of Bendy the Dancing Demon had aired the previous night at a local theater. A few marketing executives had been impressed by the quality of the work, which already filled his chest with pride. He and Joey had spent so many hours over keyframes and ‘tweens, and he knew that Sammy had spent just as long making sure music and sounds alike matched up with the animations. And all they had was a collective $38 to their names, as well as this studio. How Joey had managed to convince the bank to loan them just enough to buy this building, he never knew. Joey Drew had always been just one or two steps ahead when it came to charming others, and strong-arming when that didn’t work… But now was the harder part. They had another two episodes planned out, but Henry already knew they would have to find a way to keep appealing the audience. And the owners of theaters to let them show their cartoons. And that wasn’t counting the fact they’d need to start hiring more man-power to animate.

The stress alone is what convinced Henry to light a cigarette in the projector room, and seeing Sammy’s overfilling ash-tray, he was not the only one feeling the effects.

He tapped his pen against the table in front of him, mind as blank as the paper in front of him.

How could they appeal? Bendy the Dancing Demon was a charming little fellow as he was; sure there was the occasional worry or complaint that he was a literal demon in a cartoon that would be seen by children, but not enough to warrant a little angel character or something to balance out design wise. Hell, if anything, Bendy seemed to be mistaken for a small cat half the time.

Sammy groaned, crumpling up a piece of sheet music and tossing it over the piano before humming frantically and trying experimental keys. How he could make music out of that beginning din, he didn’t know.

…..Actually, he knew next to nothing about Sammy Lawrence. He’d only been introduced a little after Joey got the studio and copyrighted the name. The younger man seemed constantly tense, and honestly, a bit of a bum. He had asked Joey about where he’d found this blond man, and nearly slapped his own face when his friend said “Off First and Boulder St.!” …But, damn if Sammy didn’t have a good ear. And his temperament seemed rather complimentary to Joey’s; they were equally stubborn, but where Joey’s talent lied with drawing and charm, Sammy showed a talent for music and problem-solving. His ability to find the simplest of solutions to a problem was beyond helpful as they started up the studio, the main one that came to mind being convincing Joey to do Bendy’s voice-acting until they could get a proper voice actor. 

He’d found that oddly more hilarious than he meant to. He had based the concept art for Bendy the Dancing Demon off his best friend from art college. From his short height to the silly way his hair stood up on end, and even a little bit of creative liberties with making Bendy a good dancer. Joey’s bad leg prevented him from learning to dance, but he could try and give him a little justice.

The door swung open, and speak of the Devil who was here.

“I swear on everything good ‘n holy, you’d think I was talkin’ to brick wall.” Joey’s vest was already unbuttoned, and Henry could see the heavier limp on his cane. “But! We should be able to air the next cartoon by the end of the month. They’ll even sign a contract if we give them four cartoons to air by May!”

Four?? They only finished the one! And even if they could do the two more, they still needed to write one more. And MAY?? That was three months! They’d only managed to finish the pilot in three months!!

Thankfully, he didn’t have to remind Joey Drew of how moronic that time table was. Sammy had turned to face the smaller pale man, a dead-pan expression on his face and a steady sarcastic tone. “….You’re a goddamn idiot for that kinda deadline. What, you wan’ us to pull a rabbit out of our pants too?”

“If you could, Sammy, I’d be impressed.” His green eyes almost twinkled in mischievous delight, and Henry could already feel skeptical. “But nah. We can do this time table. Reason I was late comin’ back was I w’s visitin’ wit’ the boys from the bank again. Apparently, one’a their kids really loved the pilot.”

Oh? “And how would you know that?” He was going to regret the answer, but his curiousity had always been his downfall.

“Cuz I went out and said hi to the kid. Even offered that lil’ plush ya made, Henry.

Oh he regretted it.

“But!” Joey was quick to try and rationalize what he’d done. “The ole’ fart was a bit more sympathetic wit’ his own kid right there. We should be able to hire on some more animators by weeks end. Maybe grab a few scrubs from the college.”

Sammy barked out a laugh, leaning back in the piano bench as he looked over his shoulder to Joey. “Well Sheesh. Ya shoulda lead with that, ya twit!” There was no real anger or fight in the blond’s tone, so Joey just grinned as he walked closer.

“Now where’s the fun in that?”

Sammy could only lean back his arm, popping the blunt part of his pen against Joey’s stomach as he laughed. “Yeah yeah, come off it. That smooth look ‘a yours can only get you so far!”

….Oh.

Henry was suddenly struck with inspiration as he watched Sammy and Joey bicker back and forth. The two hardly noticed he was sketching out something, fully involved in their playful arguing.

They needed a foil for Bendy! That would keep it appealing to the audience! ….First he needed to be sure the figure was tall…. Maybe a dog. No. Too many dogs in other studios. ….A wolf! Close enough!

He took a few more peeks at Joey and Sammy, and couldn’t help noticing those ridiculous overalls that Sammy seemed to always wear. He’d be glad when they were actually earning money and he could tell the blond he needed to get rid of them. But…

It was easy to sketch onto this wolf.

He smiled as he continued to draw, making little notes on the sides of the paper. It needed a lot more work, that much was certain.

But he already liked this little wolf character.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO MUCH for following this story. I've been nothing but happy to have written this and have so many enjoy it. 
> 
> The artwork is my own, which can be found on my tumblr here: http://disneyphantomlover.tumblr.com/post/161648967029/


	24. Tonight's Episode: Another Chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What did happen after Boris found Henry?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((Okay, I debated about doing anything after Chapter 3 of the game came out... 
> 
> And then decided the heck with it. 
> 
> So. Before I write anything brand new, I'm going to be updating all three main series of "False Protagonists" to reflect what we learned and found out in Chapter 3. I'm starting with this, and I'll be working on Joey's story, "The Creator's Puzzle Pieces", very soon. But here's a chapter I decided to add to help transition us from the end of Chapter 2 to the Safe House in Chapter 3.
> 
> Hope you still enjoy! And feel free to look at other chapters to see what's been changed or added~!))

**First things were first. He had'ta get Henry to the safe house.**

**Other "him"s used the room as a way to hide from the mean Alice. Some of them lasted for days, weeks, one even for months! All before leaving and getting snatched up by the fake Alice. And... Well. He didn't want to think about what had happened to the other "him"s. The Alice he knew would never do such things. Neither would the human who used to be Susie Hagen. And he intended to stay safe; not paranoid and scared that they would be snatched up like the Butcher Gang had been. The sooner they were out of the open space, the better. He bounded up to Henry, who looked ready to keel over and faint. Maybe he was in shock? He didn't react for a whole minute when Boris had come into his personal space.**

**He gently tugged on the man's stained sweater, offering a quiet smile. His voice box felt nonexistent... Maybe he wasn't meant to speak yet? That was probably it. Sammy would've had a coniption not being able to speak or make a sound. But Boris was perfectly fine with it for now. Well, not completely... He would've preferred being able to tell the animator to follow him.**

**Thankfully, his body language spoke for him. He tugged on the sweater a little more, urging him to follow. And Henry finally did. He looked so scared and terrified of Boris... Which Boris could understand. He'd been dead more times then he could count on both hands, but it still shook him to his core when he saw any dead body. His own especially. He could imagine the terror at seeing such a thing wasn't at all weakened or diluted for Henry. Much less seeing as Boris the Wolf was walking around "again". So he waited patiently for Henry to get the hint they needed to leave. When that didn't work, he walked back around the corner from where he came, then waved an out-stretched hand to beckon the human to come.**

**The silence that stretched on was as deafening as the chase from earlier had been. It was enough to make the cartoon feel nervous again, and he started to look around at the walls. Surely that strange "Bendy" or that mean "Alice" wouldn't find them here, would they? "Bendy" was locked out, unable to get through...**

**Before his thoughts could run off from him, Boris heard soft footsteps on the wood. Not clacks or sloshing, just slow, even steps. He looked over his shoulder, offering a wider smile to Henry. He didn't return the smile, and kept his distance from the wolf. It hurt Boris a little, but he tried to not take it personally. Things weren't as they seemed anymore. He knew that all too well, and Henry had to have figured that out now.**

**So he took lead, winding through hallways that he recognized like the back of his glove. He knew to wait at the end of one hallway to avoid being seen by the ink creatures, he knew not to use his hands to navigate the walls where machinery was, and to step over some of the discarded toys that rested at one of the landings.**

**It was a strange feeling. He remembered so much and so little. He could remember how the bottom floors were, with that strange version of Mr. Joey... That mean "Alice"... And even how to get to the safe haven he had. But he could not remember how he got to this point... How he became real, for one. Or how Mr. Sammy Wes became his body. He'd had a lotta bodies, but all of them were made from ink. Either on paper, or in this studio. He was never so solid as he was now. There was a solid weight in his arms and legs like he never had before. And... well, he couldn't say he "liked" it. But he didn't outright hate it either.**

**Once they were in the safe room, he swung the door closed behind Henry. He'd have to take that lever off when Henry wasn't lookin'! To keep him safe. It was real dangerous to go out on these floors alone.**

**But that'd be for later. Right now, he needed to do-Oh'p.**

**Thick arms were wrapped around his body, with Henry's head against his thin shoulder. The wolf was immediately concerned at the change in attitude, trying to pull away. But then Henry trembled.**

**Ah. He got it.**

**Henry was upset. Upset humans did strange things once they were in a safer place. And what was safer than a safe house? He wrapped his loose arms around the man, gently patting his back. There was no need to say they'd be okay. Firstly, there was no guarantee they would be. Secondly, his hug spoke loud and clear for him. The older man was still trembling as he pulled back to look up at Boris. The wolf towered him by half a foot when he wasn't slouched over. "** God, I thought... I thought you were... I saw the ink and-.... Boris, I didn'- **" Henry was starting to ramble more and more as he spoke, which told Boris that he was working himself up. His heart rate was sure to skyrocket at this point! So he placed a finger over Henry's mouth. Shush.**

**We're safe here. He couldn't say it, but he wanted to. This Creator... The one who didn't mean to leave but had been forced to. The one who was always able to set Mr. Joey straight. He'd get them outta here!**

**Turning the man around, Boris started to gently push the man through a door and down the hallway. The human needed to rest. And honestly, he felt tired as well. They passed by the bathroom, going to the room at the end of the hallway. Boris reached around, unclicking the door and letting it swing open. Henry seemed to be able to walk again, unsteady as he was. But he made it inside and found the cot at the corner of the room. He carefully sat on the edge of the cot, looking up to the wolf.**

**Boris quietly huffed, reaching over and pushing Henry's shoulders with a light force. It was enough to push the man down to lay on the bed at least, and thankfully, the man smiled as he laid down. "**...I'm not that tired, buddy. **"**

**Boris rose an nonexistent eyebrow, letting his arms cross in front of him like a disappointed parent.**

**"**....Okay, I'm a little tired. **"**

**Boris gave a small nod, turning around and about to walk out of the room. He changed his mind at the last minute, shutting the door to his left and slumping down to sit on the nearby trunk.**

**Henry turned his head to face the cartoon, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "**...You going to watch me sleep? **"**

**Boris shook his head furiously.**

**"**....You going to attack me when I'm asleep? **"**

**Boris frowned deeply, his ears bending to show his indgination at the idea. Now that was just silly. He was getting no where like this.... He shifted a little so he was facing the door, giving it a proper glare.**

**"** Oh... **" Henry's face seemed to soften as he realized what Boris was offering to do. "** You're...gonna make sure nothing comes in? ...While I sleep? **"**

**FINALLY! Boris gave a few nods, his own face relaxing into an easy smile.**

**"**...Thank you. ....Boris. **"**

**Henry shifted on the cot a little more, but Boris kept his attention on the door. He'd feel better waiting for the human to go to sleep before double-checking the doors.**

**....**

**They'd get outta here. He knew they would. They just needed to get to the lift first. And avoid upsetting the mean "Alice". But he needed time to get used to this strange, full body again. And the human man to his right needed time to recover from the upper floors. One day wouldn't hurt...**

**He'd been here so long, one day couldn't hurt anymore then the others.**


End file.
